Invictus
by Fever Dream
Summary: Jillian Shepard travels to Palaven in an attempt to convince the Primarchs of the Turian Hierarchy that the Reaper threat is real. However, after a PR disaster concerning her unconventional personal life, complications and cross-cultural conflicts arise.
1. Pyrrhic Victories

After the crew of the Normandy SR-2 returned to Citadel space from the Omega-4 Relay, they trooped out to the Dark Star and bought up every drink in the place, from the most expensive asari liqueur to the cheapest batarian ale. The celebration and subsequent inebriation would make for a hefty tab at the end of the night, but Jillian Shepard wasn't concerned about the cost. After the horrors they'd witnessed at the Collectors' base, the team had earned a night out, a few hours to kick back and forget about the imminent threat of galactic destruction from a race of very determined and nearly invincible sentient machines. Besides, the Illusive Man didn't know it yet, but they were drinking on his dime. The bill would be a nice parting gift to Cerberus and its donors, just a little something to say "fuck you and thanks for the memories", as Jack had so aptly put it.

The atmosphere in the club was dream-like, a velvety haze of milling bodies, of faces sliced into shards of blue and yellow light, of walls that seemed to ripple with heat and electronic music pulsing from the speakers. Conversation and laughter wove between the songs. Even from across the room, Shepard could hear Mordin nattering on to Dr. Chakwas about his latest scientific discovery or eavesdrop on Jack telling Grunt a bloody anecdote about her pirating days.

Garrus sauntered over and leaned back against the bar, still seeming a bit ill at ease in his civilian clothes. He was sipping the same mystifying green beverage that Shepard had seen Tali order several times that night.

"What is that?" Shepard asked.

"Tupari. I hear it's made from 10% real tupo berry juice."

"Wow."

"I know," Garrus said. "It's impressive."

She smiled. "Your favourite word."

"Yeah, well, you know what's also impressive? My vocabulary."

Shepard glanced towards the dance floor, where multi-coloured electric tiles were flashing quickly enough to induce seizures. Kasumi and Jacob were already out on there, executing trendy and increasingly complex dance moves amidst a circle of bemused asari. The rest of the crew seemed to need a bit more liquid courage before they'd even consider getting out there and busting a move.

She turned back to Garrus, smirking. "So, tough guy, you planning to just stand around or are you going to ask me to dance?"

He cringed, choking back his drink. "Uh, I would, but turians don't dance. I think it might be against the law or something."

"I'm sure C-Sec can overlook it just this once."

"Really, Commander? Are you sure we can't just go shoot down a gunship instead?"

"No can do."

"Maybe another suicide mission? C'mon, Shepard. It'd be fun. "

"Nope. Dance floor, now. That's an order."

He chugged down the rest of the Tupari and plunked his glass down on the bar. "Alright. Just because I like to make you happy. But I'm warning you, it's not going to be pretty."

There were three things in the galaxy that Shepard could assert with absolute certainty: 1) The Reapers were coming; 2) The Council wasn't going to do anything to stop them and 3) Garrus Vakarian, veteran officer of C-Sec, steely-eyed sniper and notorious vigilante, could not dance to save his life.

He had no sense of rhythm, even by turian standards, and found the most improbable ways of trampling on her toes and bumping into other dancers. His best moves consisted of bobbing his head, bending and unbending his gangly legs and awkwardly gesturing with his arms, occasionally pointing his claws at her as if they were guns. She couldn't understand how someone who was so capable, so co-ordinated on the battlefield could be such a mess on the dance floor. It was baffling and more than a little endearing.

"See? It's not so bad," she said.

Garrus nodded, his eyes narrowed with concentration. "Alright, not so bad. Just sort of...undignified. I can't believe you humans do this for fun."

She laughed. "What do turians do at parties?"

"Pick fights and complain about the music."

"Sounds like a blast."

"If you like that, then you'll love Palaven," he said. "I still can't believe you're going to try telling the Primarchs about Reapers."

"We're going to need the Hierarchy's Fleet against the Reapers and Councillor Velarn thinks I'm a nut-job with a license to kill. The Primarchs are our best chance."

"Call me cynical, but good turians like to tow the party line. We're going to have a hard time convincing them that the councillor made the wrong call."

She mulled over her previous diplomatic efforts. She'd had some recent success with the quarians but her relationship with the Council was...rocky, to say the least. "You're right. But we have to try. We have a strong team, but we can't defeat the Reapers on our own."

He reached over and rubbed her shoulder, trying to cheer her up. "Shepard, if anyone can do it, it's you. You can be very persuasive. Especially when you've got a rocket-launcher."

"Thanks for the pep talk, coach."

"I mean it. You're...impressive."

"Like Tupari sports drink?"

He chuckled. "Well, let's not go overboard. I mean, Tupari brings your ancestors back from the grave."

It wasn't long before Tali, Kelly and some of the human crew members flooded onto the dance floor. The rest of the night passed in a blur of toasts, jokes and reminiscences, until final call and then closing time. For some of the crew, their tour with the Normandy was coming to an end. Some would go scurrying back to Cerberus and the Illusive Man, while others were departing for safer jobs, ones where they wouldn't have to worry about being melted into grey slurry or transformed into husks. EDI could manage many of the roles they'd once occupied, but Shepard was still disappointed to see them go, to watch them retreat from the grim reality of the Reapers into the comfort of everyday routines. It was so easy, so tempting to do. There were some moments when she envied them that luxury.

* * *

Shepard awoke the next morning with parched lips and a headache forking its way along her skull. When she rolled over, she was surprised to find Garrus still lying there, the scarred side of his face pressing into the pillow. It was odd - he usually didn't sleep over. In fact, it was rare to catch him napping at all. During his stint on Omega, he seem to have gotten in the habit of sleeping in short bursts, snatching an hour here, an hour there, always ready to bolt awake in case of an emergency. He'd kept this up after moving onto the new Normandy and it wasn't an extraordinary occurrence to find him strolling around the gunnery in the middle of the night, humming a tune as he toyed with the weapons systems or paged through extranet news reports about the skyrocketing crime rate on Omega.

She didn't mind him sleeping over - in fact, it was nice to wake up to the gentle rhythm of his breathing, his fingers cradling the indent of her waist - but it did make for awkwardness the next morning. There were always crew members wandering the corridors and those were just the ones you could see. Kasumi, for one, had a bizarre fondness for roaming around the ship under tactical cloak, collecting gossip to regale her VI diary with. Plus, Shepard didn't even want to think about the number of hidden cameras that might be installed along the hallways, giving EDI and Miranda almost unlimited options for surveillance. With all the rumours already floating around the ship, she was starting to think that it might be best just to get everything out in the open, politics be damned.

Peeling Garrus' hand back from her waist, she eased her way out of bed, trying not to wake him. She stooped down and picked up her robe from the floor, wrapping it around her body and knotting the sash around her waist.

Tiptoeing into the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and plucked out the analgesic Mordin had prescribed for her after his disturbing clinical assessment of her sex life. She pressed down on the child-proof cap and unscrewed it from the orange bottle, pouring two capsules into her palm. She managed to gulp them down without water. The maximum daily dose was four a day, but she was trying to work her way down from that, to get accustomed to the pain until she ceased to even notice it.

Examining her face in the mirror, she noted that the scars had almost completely healed over. Now they were just two pale lines etched under her cheekbones, barely noticeable amidst a sprinkling of tawny freckles. She scraped a hand back through her short blonde hair and smiled, trying to perk herself up. She had a meeting with Councillor Anderson at noon and the digital clock on the wall already read "10:47" in a ghostly, glowing blue.

When she got out of the shower, Garrus was awake, already dressed in last night's clothes. He perched on the edge of the couch, tenting his hands together and staring into the middle distance. Even in the morning, he managed to seem intense, focused, his lanky body like a coiled spring.

"Hey. Was wondering where you got off to."

"I didn't want to wake you," she said. "You're not usually such a deep sleeper."

She reached into her closet, pulling a pair of form-fitting black pants off a hanger and then selecting the mandarin-collar jacket that she opted for on days when she wanted to look professional, business-like, but not as if she was going to shoot someone.

He shrugged. "I guess I've been...different lately. Not necessarily such a bad thing, right?"

She dressed quickly, with a twinge of embarrassment, feeling his gaze upon her the whole time. She'd always felt a bit vulnerable naked, even in the presence of human lovers, but it was different with Garrus. She didn't just have to worry about whether he liked her small breasts or the muscular shape of her thighs. No, in his case, she also found herself questioning if he was even attracted to human anatomy or if his scrutiny was just out of curiosity, for science. The constant presence of his targeting visor upon his left eye was not particularly reassuring either. She kept wondering what he was using it for.

"I have an appointment with Anderson this afternoon, but I should be back later," she told him. I was thinking we could talk."

He blinked. "Talk? That sounds ominous."

"It isn't."

"Look, Shepard, if you're not comfortable with this, if it's not working for you..."

"It's not that." She sighed, irritated with her inarticulateness. "Sorry. It's not that kind of talk. Not at all."

"Alright, I'll look forward to seeing you later then. Have fun playing politics. Give Udina hell for me, will you?"

"I'll be sure to. Just to keep you amused."

Garrus tilted his head towards the door. "You want to leave first or should I?"

When he visited her quarters, they tried to stagger their departure times by fifteen minutes to avoid arousing suspicion. It wasn't a brilliant tactic. Shepard doubted they were fooling anyone.

"Let's just head down together," she said. "I think we can risk it."

"Bold move, Commander."

She still found alien faces hard to read, but his mandibles flared slightly and she could swear he was smirking – or at least, the turian equivalent.

"C'mon, Officer Vakarian. Let's get back to work."

"Yep. Back to calibrations," he said.

When Shepard stepped off the elevator, she found Kelly huddled over a communications console, trying to rub the creases of worry from her forehead. "Commander, you have a lot of new messages. You might want to..."

"I have to get up to the Presidium. I'll check them later."

"There are reporters outside in the docking bay. They've been trying to get in and see you."

Shepard flexed her fingers, giving her knuckles a satisfying crack. "I'm all for freedom of the press, but this is getting ridiculous. Did you let them know I still have a good right hook?"

"I informed them that you don't have a lot of patience for media interference."

The commander grinned, turning on her heel. "Damn straight."

As she strode to the airlocks, EDI's pale blue form popped up on a nearby console like an upside-down exclamation point. "Shepard, I would urge you to exercise caution..."

"Don't worry, EDI. I was just joking. I won't take a swing at anyone. I learned my lesson the first time around."

The doors sealed behind her, light strobing over her face as the decontamination chamber did its work. She stepped out at the docking bay of Zakera Ward and into a frantic scrum of reporters, a cluster of vid drones orbiting her face like tiny moons. Squinting into the merciless light of the cameras, she shaded her eyes with one hand and tried to fend off journalists with the other. As she pushed through the crowd, the reporters scurried after her like hungry varren, peppering her with questions.

"Commander Shepard, what is your connection with Cerberus?"

"My loyalties are to the Alliance and to galactic security. Enough said."

"Why did you fake your death? Have you been working undercover?"

"Yes, I'm on a top-secret mission. You just exposed me. Nice detective work."

"Is it true that you're romantically involved with a turian? How will this impact will your role as representative of humanity?"

Shepard stopped dead in her tracks, glaring at the female reporter who'd had the nerve, the unmitigated gall, to ask this latest question. "What? Excuse me?"

"Are you denying it? There are rumours all over the extra-net, Commander. Humanity has a right to know where your allegiance lies."

Her lips formed the words before she even considered the repercussions, the inevitable political fall-out, the lectures she'd be sure to get from Anderson, Hackett and Udina. "Go to hell."

Shoving a vid drone out of her way, she took refuge in a nearby taxi. The salarian driver craned his head around to stare at her, no doubt surprised that half of the Citadel press corps was converging at the back of his cab.

"Presidium, please," she said. "I'm in a hurry."

He started the meter and the taxi sped away from the docking bay, leaving a flutter of excited reporters to choke on fumes from the tailpipe.

She arrived at Councillor Anderson's office just in time to hear the conclusion of Udina's rant.

"She's lost her mind. The woman is a liability, a political menace. No accountability. No sense of timing. We can't afford to be associated with -"

Shepard waved hello. "Sorry I'm late."

"Just on time, Commander," Anderson said. "Take a seat."

"I think I'd rather stand."

Anderson shook his head. "Suit yourself. You've caused quite a stir around here, Shepard. I take it you've seen the news?"

"No. But from what I can tell, I was the news."

Udina glared at her, indignation thickening his Scots burr. "What in the hell were you thinking? Do you even think? Gallivanting around some sleazy bar! Getting pawed at by a turian! I don't suppose you're familiar with a little something called the First Contact War?"

Shepard feigned a vacuous smile, tilting her head to the side, as if innocent of any knowledge pertaining to galactic military history. Udina seemed to be under the impression that anyone who'd joined the Forces and learned to shoot straight must be an irredeemable nitwit. "Wait, you mean the Relay 314 Incident? No, never heard about that."

Udina stammered and breathed a few curses, a snaky bluish vein bulging from his forehead. Shepard had a feeling she might have sent his blood pressure spiking to unhealthy levels and reactivated that painful ulcer he was always muttering about. All in a day's work, she thought.

She turned to Anderson. "Where did this big scandal come from? The crew and I just went out for drinks. Nothing controversial."

"They must have been holding off on an investigation, waiting for a good photo op of you with the crew. Khalisa Al-Jilani posted the story to the Westerlund news site this morning."

"It's absurd. People can't be buying into this. I can't be a shill for the Council, a Cerberus extremist and an apologist for the turians all at the same time, no matter how much muck Al-Jilani rakes up about me."

"It doesn't have to be logical, Shepard. It's about perception. You have to admit that, from the outside, at least, your behaviour seems suspicious."

Udina scowled, folding his arms over his chest and widening his stance. "Not just suspicious. Downright traitorous. Coming back from the dead in a Cerberus ship. Showing up in human colonies just before they mysteriously disappear. What did you think people were going to say?"

Shepard shrugged. "I was hoping they'd say thanks, considering I just saved their asses."

"We need to think about damage control," Anderson said. "We can leak a story about you working undercover to undermine Cerberus. In the meantime, I'm sure the Alliance can afford to get you a publicist."

"A publicist? Do you really think that's necessary?"

"It's necessary," Udina muttered. "Unless you plan to go on punching every reporter in sight."

Shepard rubbed her knuckles, enjoying the texture of the bony ridges under her fingertips. "Right now, that sounds like a very appealing plan."

Udina sighed, looking so tired and put-upon that Shepard almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "You enjoy making my job difficult, don't you?"

"On occasion. I know you can handle it."

"Don't test my good nature too much, Commander. I may be the political rainmaker around here, but I can only work so much magic."

"I suggest you go make the arrangements for a press conference, Udina," Anderson said. "The Alliance is going to have to work fast, if we want to nip this in the bud."

After Udina was gone, Anderson slumped down into the leather chair at his desk, his stony-faced expression crumbling into something much more human.

The past few years hadn't treated Shepard's old mentor kindly. His face had a haggard appearance and his calm brown eyes were sunken in dark sockets that bespoke many sleepless nights. His golden-brown skin looked sallow, as if leeched of blood. She felt sorry for having gotten him appointed to the Council. Diplomacy obviously didn't sit well with him. Of course, when she looked at Udina and saw the alternative, she couldn't feel too regretful.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, Shepard."

"So am I," she said. "So, are you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

"If it's true."

"Your personal affairs are your business, Commander. I'm not sure it's my place to judge. We'll defend you no matter what. The Alliance owes you that much."

She nodded. "Thanks for that. You know, I'm still trying to figure out what I did wrong."

"The memory of Shanxi still runs strong with people," Anderson replied. "Your generation may not understand it so much – you grew up with the idea of other species, a whole galaxy of cultures out there to explore. For my generation and my parents' generation, it was different. Aliens were...alien. Dangerous. We didn't go into space to make friends."

"I respect the sacrifices of the people who fought in the First Contact War. I do. But I'm a person, not a symbol, not an Alliance recruitment poster. I'm not going to abandon people who I care about - my shipmates - just to appease the Terra Firma Party."

"That's what the publicist is for, Shepard. To take some of the heat off. It'll make things easier for you."

"I appreciate your support on this one."

She loaded up her omni-tool. "So are you ready for the mission debrief? I can't promise you're going to like it. The Reapers – they have big plans for us."

Anderson leaned his elbows on his desk, his expression attentive. "Go ahead, Shepard. I'm ready for the worst."

Shepard presented the data EDI had gleaned from the Collectors' systems, although she skimmed over the fact that the intelligence came from an illegal AI, one who had effectively replaced most of the Cerberus crew and who had claimed the Normandy itself as her body. That bit of info wouldn't have gone over too well and Anderson had enough to handle just coming to grips with the revelation that the Protheans had been transformed into DNA-harvesting monsters, mindless slaves for the Reaper called Harbinger.

She explained the fates of the human colonists from Freedom's Progress, Ferris Fields, Eden Prime, New Canton, trying to keep things matter-of-fact, although she was sure the horror showed in her eyes. It was hard to forget the look on that female colonist's face as her skin dissolved, her hands gripping her corroding cheeks, her eyes frantically scanning for an escape hatch. Shepard had tried to pry open the pod, but by the time she'd prised apart the lock, all that remained of the woman was grey sludge dribbling on to the floor, baby-food to nourish a Human Reaper.

Anderson looked down at his desk, cradling his head in his hands. "The Reapers were harvesting humans to reproduce? I think I liked them better when they were just out to destroy us."

"If it comforts you at all, I'm sure they consider it an honour for our species. A compliment of the highest order," Shepard said. "If they succeed, we get to be one of them. No doubt they think of it as a step-up, our route to immortality."

"That doesn't comfort me, Shepard. Not at all."

"Sorry. Guess I'm not good at breaking things easy. Do you think any of this would convince the other members of the Council?"

The councillor heaved a sigh, one that racked his weary frame. "It's doubtful, not unless you can provide outside confirmation for your information. My colleagues will view anything coming from the Normandy as subject to your influence and prone to manipulation, even outright fabrication."

"I don't suppose they'll accept Cerberus as a source? We could try to subpoena the Illusive Man, but I don't think that would go over too well."

Anderson's lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. "Well, it'd be interesting to see you try. You did a good job here, Commander. I'll take this info to Alliance Command and we'll see what we can make of it. We might be able to dig up something that will prove useful for diplomatic purposes. In the meantime, you have our full support and a whole lot of back-pay coming to you. Might as well make use of it."

"Thanks. I will," Shepard said, turning towards the door. "Take care of yourself, Anderson."

"You, too, Shepard. Try not to let the political bullshit get you down."

Shepard left Anderson's office, strolling back along the cold, narrow corridors of the Presidium's diplomatic sector, paths that coiled around each other like a pit of snakes. Along the way, she took in the holographic portraits of ambassadors that shimmered across the walls, finding herself amused at the symbols used to depict the galactic community: a circle of laurel leaves, a planet orbited by colourful moons, a sky speckled with stars. If they'd asked her to contribute an image, she would have drawn a bunch of ostriches with their heads in the sand.

But anger was useless and so was bitterness. What was really bothering her were the hunger pangs. She'd be better off getting some lunch than brooding on the ignorance of the Council. There was a nice little sushi joint down on Zakera Ward – if she kept a low profile, she might be able to grab a bento box.

She'd just ordered a green dragon roll and an assortment of maki when she heard someone give a polite little cough behind her, clearing his throat. Her first instinct was to tilt her head downward, to obscure her face.

"Shepard?"

That voice was unmistakeable, slight rasp in the back of throat like two pebbles rubbing together. It definitely wasn't a reporter. Just when she thought her day couldn't get any worse, any more...uncomfortable. She turned around, slowly, hesitantly, just to confirm the bad feeling boiling in her gut.

"Kaidan. Small world."

"Small galaxy, Commander."


	2. Fraternization

Kaidan reached into a nearby basket, scooping up a set of cheap wooden chopsticks. Cracking the fused pair in half, he placed them on his tray along with some futomaki and a steeping cup of green tea.

"It's been a long time," he said, breaking the stunned silence. "Did you have a good talk with Anderson?"

After endless rounds of Skyllian Five with Tali, Ken and Gabby, Shepard had developed a pretty good poker face. Nevertheless, it was hard not to feel flustered, imagining the accusations behind his eyes. "About as good as can be expected. I didn't realize you'd been keeping up with my itinerary."

She drummed her fingers on the stainless steel counter, watching as the chefs sliced avocado into neat green stacks and rolled sticky rice around tender slabs of salmon. The salarian prepping her meal was a fast worker, his deft fingers in constant motion, but he still wasn't nearly quick enough.

"I was curious," Kaiden replied. "I figured to might be interesting to find out what a ghost does in her spare time."

"My goals haven't changed, Kaidan. I'm still serving the Alliance. You'd know that if you'd heard me out on Horizon."

She was expecting him to protest, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he just squinted a little, rubbing the back of his hand across his crinkled forehead as if he felt another migraine coming on.

"This isn't easy for me, Shepard. Maybe I should've – done things differently, but hindsight is 20-20. I can't change the past."

She picked up her lunch and paid the cashier with a quick swipe of her credit chit, then headed towards one of the corner booths.

"Why are you here, Kaidan? Maybe it's just the sushi, but there's something awfully fishy about this."

"Maybe I wanted to talk about old times."

"Maybe," she said provisionally, sliding into the far side of the booth.

Undeterred by her brusqueness, Kaidan sat down across from her and took a long sip of his tea. It scorched his lips and he gave a start, rattling his tray with his elbow.

"I get the feeling you aren't happy to see me," he said.

Shepard gave a grudging smile. Kaidan could be thoughtful, even eloquent on occasion, but he'd always had a real talent for stating the obvious.

"The timing is just...questionable. And you still haven't given me a straight answer. Why are you here?"

He looked her dead in the eyes, his voice calm and controlled, eminently reasonable. "I'd like to get back on the mission, Commander. I've already received permission from Alliance Command. I realize that we've had certain differences of opinion, but I can't stand idly by while the Reapers threaten the entire galaxy. Don't cut me out of this just because I might've made a mistake."

She chewed on a piece of vegetable maki while she formulated her response. He seemed sincere enough, but with his reticent manner and those sad puppy dog eyes, it would be pretty hard for Kaidan Alenko not to seem genuine.

"You'd be an asset to the team, Kaidan. I won't deny that. But things...things are different now."

He frowned, a deep furrow carving between his brows. His hands balled into fists and then fanned out again, fingers white-knuckling the table. "I know. I watch the news."

"And you still want to come along for the ride? I know you're a good guy, but that's unusually generous, even for you. Are you sure this is just your choice?"

"Who else would be choosing for me?"

"Admiral Hackett, for one. Possibly Udina. Could be, they think I need a babysitter. Someone who's familiar with the crew. Someone whose loyalty to the Alliance is unquestionable. Someone a lot like you."

Kaidan paused for a moment, wetting his lips. "If that were the case, would it make a difference? I'd still be there to help out. I'd still be doing my duty."

"And you'd be hating every minute of it."

"I'm a professional," he stated. "Before what happened between you and I...happened, I was aware of the potential for emotional complications. For discomfort. There's a reason why they have rules against fraternization. Regardless, I can put my personal feelings aside and do my job."

"That's an admirable sentiment. If you can put it into practice, then you're a better soldier than I."

"I'm not saying it wouldn't be difficult. You – really did a number on me, Shepard."

She poked at her food with a chopstick, trying to resist the urge to offer a snappy retort, something that would wound him as much as he'd hurt her on Horizon.

"No hard feelings, but maybe you should bow out of this one," she said, finally. "Tell the Alliance I wouldn't let you on the ship. They can't punish you for that."

He flinched, his dark eyes turning doleful. "Is that what you really want?"

"I think it's best this way," she murmured. "For both of us."

"What if it isn't what I want?"

"I'm not going to bar you from the Normandy, Alenko. I just don't think it's advisable. But if you really want to come along, if the Alliance insists, then I'm not going to object."

"Alright. Well, guess I'll see you on the Normandy then, Commander."

Rising to his feet, he sidestepped out of the booth and picked up his tray of half-eaten food. Shepard's gaze followed him as he dumped the remaining futomaki into a nearby garbage bin and strode away from the tea shop.

She'd never known Kaidan to stop eating until he'd scraped every morsel off his plate and sopped up the left-over sauce with chunks of bread, for good measure. As far as she could tell, he'd been one of those kids who'd been brought up to "clean his plate". He must have lost his appetite.

After she finished her lunch, she got on the radio to let Joker know that Kaidan would be joining them on the Normandy.

"For real?" Joker said. "When did this place become a soap opera? Does this mean Miranda has a good twin? Oh wait, we already met her."

"We're all professionals. I think we can handle it."

She couldn't see Joker's face, but she could picture him rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, sure. So tell me, Commander, if Garrus and Kaidan got into a fight, who do you think would win? 'Cause if it's a fist fight, I say Garrus. But if we're going to allow biotics..."

"Joker, we have got to get you some sensitivity training. Stat."

She flicked off her radio before he could give another smart-ass reply.

* * *

Jacob was the first person she encountered upon returning to the Normandy.

"Just wanted to give you a heads-up - Staff Commander Alenko has reported for duty," he said. "Seems like a decent enough guy. Now that Samara's left, I figured we could let him use her old quarters. He's down there now, unpacking his stuff."

"Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Jacob."

Jacob always seemed to get excited at the prospect of new recruits to the team and would hang around the main deck to set himself up as the official welcoming party. It could be that he liked making new friends. Or perhaps he figured vigilance was the best way to head off trouble. In any case, Shepard appreciated his sense of hospitality, especially back when they were still flying around under the Cerberus banner. It saved her time making introductions and giving tours, but more importantly, it kept new team members from getting acquainted with Miranda and her ice-queen attitude, at least until after the ship pulled out of port. That was important for employee retention.

She headed back up to her quarters and checked her private extra-net account, the one that had been giving Kelly a headache earlier in the day. Her mailbox was packed to capacity with messages, including a hysterical "open letter" from Charles Saracino of the Terra Firma Party, an offer to appear on an upcoming cover of _Fornax_ magazine and another interview request from Emily Wong, complete with promises to be "sympathetic" and "tread lightly". The note from her mother, still posted on the _SSV Orizaba,_ was surprisingly supportive. She kept that one, deleting the rest, and then went hunting for the Westerlund news site on the extra-net.

It didn't take Shepard long to find Al-Jilani's report and the accompanying op-ed column, entitled "Corrupt Spectre loses humanity – in more ways than one". The opinion piece was a classic example of Al-Jilani's scurrilous rhetoric, dishing out every shot it could take at Shepard, Anderson, the Council and the Spectres. Shepard wasn't sure whether to get mad or bust a gut laughing. She found one paragraph particularly choice:

"Aside from Commander Shepard's disturbing sexual deviance and the serious questions it raises about her mental condition, the people of Earth should be worried by the fact that the first human Spectre is getting into bed – both figuratively and literally – with the turians. Can we trust someone who has so much contempt for her own people that she would sacrifice thousands of human lives and risk a geth force overrunning the galaxy in order to save an undemocratic Council and curry favour with alien races? Shepard's violent temper and erratic, impulsive behaviour, readily in evidence when she assaulted the writer of this column, are further reasons why the Alliance should distance itself from a petulant xenophile who has shown time and again that she is not ready to represent humanity on the galactic stage."

Underneath the bold black text was a picture of her dancing with Garrus at the Dark Star. The photographer had timed the shot perfectly, capturing the turian's hand on her shoulder and the smile spreading across her face as she replied to one of his wisecracks.

The caption underneath read, "A C-Sex Scandal?: Commander Jillian Shepard shares an intimate moment with a turian, tentatively identified as rogue C-Sec Officer and long-time shipmate Garus Vakkarian." She wondered if it would be impolitic to write Al-Jilani and inform her that she'd managed to misspell both portions of Garrus' name. The woman wouldn't be winning any Pulitzers for this so-called 'exposé'.

Shepard was so busy poring over the outrageous article that she didn't notice the door slide open behind her. It didn't occur to her that she wasn't alone until Garrus leaned over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the picture on the screen. She clicked the window shut, a guilty conscience quickening her reflexes.

"Just seeing it now?" he said. "Wish they hadn't chosen that picture. The lighting is all wrong. And they caught my bad side."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into this."

"Hey, don't look so down, Shepard. At least you're photogenic."

She stood from her chair and spun around to face him. "So you're okay with this then? This complete and utter bullshit?"

"No. It pisses me off. But I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing it. Or of letting it affect the really important things."

She gazed up at him, trying to assess what was going on behind that stoic turian demeanour. "You sure you want to take this route? It could be a rough ride. For both of us."

"Look, I was cautious coming in to this. I'll admit it. I wasn't sure how it would work," he replied. "But it's been good. It's been...surprising. Besides, you know me, Shepard, once I've committed myself to something, it takes a minimum of three merc gangs and a gunship to get me out."

He gave a nervous chuckle and then his long arms encircled her, folding her into his chest. Her eyes squeezed shut, her body relaxing into the embrace. Shepard had never enjoyed the idea of playing the damsel in distress, not by a long shot, but there was something very reassuring about the way he held her. It made her feel – well, damn, it made her feel protected. And she was surprised by how much she could get to like that.

"I'd never accuse you of not being determined, Garrus. I just want to make sure this is worth it for you."

His answer came faster than she expected. "It's worth it."

"Okay. That's good to hear."

Garrus adjusted his targeting visor, looking a bit self-conscious, as if hit by the sudden realization that he'd just done something that would've gotten him beat up on the mean streets of Omega. "Before we finish this heart-warming, touchy-feely discussion and get back to sticking it to Cerberus and shooting the bad guys, I was hoping you could answer a question for me."

Shepard's eyes shot open, her teeth clenching together. Shit. Joker had probably given him a heads-up about their newest recruit and she could already anticipate what he was going to say. Please don't ask about Kaidan, she thought, please don't ask about...

"Are we still going to Palaven?" he asked. "Because I was kind of looking forward to seeing my father. I mean, it's not a big deal or anything, but hey, figured I'd mention it. I haven't seen the old guy in a couple of years and I wouldn't mind checking up. You know, just to make sure he still disapproves of me."

"Sure, Palaven it is," she said, smiling up at him with more than a little relief. "Might as well make all of Al-Jilani's worst nightmares come true."

"I like the way you think."

Udina wouldn't like it and the Citadel press would probably have a field day, but they already had it out for her. Why let them interfere with Spectre business? Hell, in turian space, maybe her reputation as an alien-loving Council puppet would actually do her some good.

"You know, when you see the Palaven Hills, I think you're going to be impressed," he said. "Just don't drink the water."

As tempting as it was to procrastinate, it occurred to her that she couldn't skirt around the issue of Alenko forever. There was no way Garrus was going to fail to observe that their former crewmate had taken up residence in the Starboard Observatory. And if she didn't bother to comment on it, maybe that fact would seem even more suspect.

"Garrus, there's one thing I should tell you. When I went to see Councillor Anderson today, I ran into someone."

His gaze shifted down to the floor, as if he'd suddenly developed a keen interest in the pattern of the tiles. "Alenko. Yeah, I heard."

"The Alliance wanted him on the Normandy. I made the concession."

He paused for a moment, weighing his words. "Alright, well, it'll be good to have him back. He's a team player."

"He is. I just want to let you know that he and I are over. There's nothing there anymore."

He nodded, but she couldn't help but notice the icy glint in his pale eyes, pupils contracting into black stones. "Shepard, if you tell me it's over, then it's over. I trust you."

"Thanks. That's nice to hear."

"Of course, if it...isn't over, if something changes - well, I hope I'll be the first to know."

She reached up, stroking a hand along the cool plate of his neck and then up along his fringe. "You don't need to worry about that."

"I'm not worried. I'm just saying."

"And I'm just telling you that you're the one I want."

His hand enveloped hers. It was funny how he could do that, considering she easily outnumbered him in the 'having fingers' department. She could feel his pulse fluttering against the cords of his throat. It jolted faster when she pressed against him, her free hand grasping the jut of his hip.

"That – that's good to know, Shepard."


	3. The Spirit of Lost Causes

From orbit, Palaven was a yellow-green world toothed with tawny mountains and swirled with oceanic blue. It looked tranquil from far away, as most planets did, but anyone with keen eyes and a working knowledge of turian culture could identify the ridged grey walls of old fortresses and the big black barrels of the relatively modern defense turrets.

Joker grimaced, gnawing his lower lip. "Um, Commander? I hope you realize they're pointing those things straight at us."

"That would be a bad sign," Miranda said.

The former Cerberus operative hadn't wanted to come to the planet in the first place and so she'd been reverting to her old 'teacher's pet' persona, basking in a know-it-all smugness and poking as many holes in Shepard's plan as she could. Shepard suspected that much of this behaviour had come from Miranda's sense that she'd lost status within the mission. Between Shepard's choice of Garrus to lead the fireteams at the Collectors' base and the sudden re-appearance of Staff-Commander Alenko, Operative Lawson was finally starting to realize that she wasn't XO and that she hadn't been from the onset, no matter what the Illusive Man had promised her. For a woman as driven and ambitious as Miranda, the knowledge must have stung.

Shepard gazed out the window towards the hazy black shapes of the turrets. They were definitely aligning the Normandy in their sights. "EDI, give me a status report."

EDI materialized on the console beside Joker's elbow. "I can assure you that our defence systems are online, Shepard. Should they choose to fire on us -"

"Don't worry about it," Garrus interrupted. "They do this to all foreign ships. It's their way of waving hello."

At last, Joker received clearance to land from air traffic control and he prepared the ship for descent. "Yeah, real friendly, these turians. I'm surprised they don't attract more tourists."

Garrus shrugged. "Actually, for tourism, we do okay. Lots of Krogan Rebellions re-enactors, military buffs. And the beaches are nice, if you don't mind the radiation. A perfect holiday."

"Krogan Rebellions re-enactors? Remind me not to let Grunt off the ship," Shepard said.

The Normandy swooped down over the Quorum district of the Palaven Hills, passing rows of austere grey towers ringed with violet light. Each tower was connected to its neighbour by a glass-encased suspension bridge, creating a series of graceful white arches that undulated across the skyline.

Joker manoeuvred the ship into the docking bay, complaining to EDI about other pilots' parking through the whole procedure. When he was done, he re-adjusted his ball cap in a self-congratulatory manner, lounged back in his leather chair and folded his hands behind his head.

"Admirable work, Jeff," EDI said.

"I know, I know," he said, the traces of a smile appearing beneath his beard. "Best pilot in the galaxy. Unsung hero. I got it. Of course, none of this magic would happen without the Normandy."

If EDI possessed hands, Shepard was certain they would've given each other a high-five. Back in the old days, their constant squabbling had frayed on her nerves, but this newfound camaraderie had the potential to be a bit...creepy.

Shepard had planned to walk over to the Nexus Tower, the meeting place of the Primarchs, on her own. Instead, she ended up with a full escort, since Tali wanted to go investigate ship modifications in the market, Garrus wanted to visit his father and Kasumi...well, Shepard was pretty sure that Kasumi was going out to steal things. She'd already given her the requisite speech about respecting other people's property, particularly on foreign worlds renowned for the ruthless efficiency of their penitentiary systems. Kasumi had nodded and said that she understood, but Shepard knew that added risk only increased the thrill for her. She just hoped that her friend didn't caught, as she imagined turian laws were severe and the crew of the Normandy weren't going to be mounting another prison break any time soon.

Two humans, a quarian and a turian walk into a docking bay...it sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. The customs officers and security people at the entrance to the Quorum district certainly thought so, casting dubious glances at each other as they conducted pupil scans or in Tali's case, checked her omni-tool for passport information, ship registration data and last port of call. The docking fee wasn't quite as exorbitant as Shepard had thought it'd be and nowhere near as pricey as it would've been on Ilium if Liara hadn't ponied up some creds in advance.

A member of the security detail, a grizzled old veteran who'd been giving Shepard the patented turian death-stare for nearly half an hour, examined Garrus' passport on his omni-tool. Shepard anticipated he was going to give them some trouble.

"Vakarian?" he said. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"It's not a very common name," Garrus admitted.

Actually, Shepard had been acquainted with an Armenian doctor with the same last name back at Arcturus Station, but she wasn't even going to try and bring that one up.

The guard rotated the passport image on his omni-tool. His deep voice rose a few octaves with incredulity. "Wait, you're not related to...?"

"I'm his son."

"Damn. You're Cereus Vakarian's kid," the guard said. "I – I don't suppose you could, uh, get his autograph for me?"

Garrus' voice betrayed a hint of amusement. "Yeah, I think I could manage that."

If anyone recognized Shepard, they didn't let on. She realized it was massively hypocritical, since she'd spent the last few days deploring the price of fame, bemoaning the loss of her privacy and growling at the rabid packs of reporters who pursued her, but she kind of wished somebody would give her a little adulation. You know, just a couple of breathless fans gushing about her heroic exploits on the Citadel or informing her with absolute solemnity that seeing her face on a box of Wheaties had changed their lives.

When they were safely past customs, it was almost inevitable that Tali would start to rag on Garrus.

"So, Garrus, I didn't know your father was a celebrity."

"He's not a celebrity. He's just well-respected."

"Well-respected by his fans," Tali said. "That's a celebrity. Are there action figures?"

"No! Turians don't get up to that kind of thing. We don't believe in a cult of personality. It's... undignified."

"I'm going to the markets, Vakarian," Tali warned. "And if I see an action figure, I'm buying it."

"We could put it on the dashboard of the Normandy," Shepard said. "Joker's always complaining about the lack of decoration."

Garrus sighed. "Grrrreat. Thanks, guys."

Tali waved a goodbye as she and Kasumi followed an electric sign pointing out a local tech boutique. Before they disappeared from sight, Kasumi threw them a backwards glance, smiling impishly, and switched on her tactical cloak. Shepard suspected that quite a bit of cargo would mysteriously "disappear" from the markets today. It just had better not reappear on the Normandy. She didn't want a bunch of overzealous turian officials rummaging through her ship in search of stolen goods and discovering EDI's presence in the process.

"You think Tali will give it a break or am I going to be hearing about this the entire time we're on Palaven?" Garrus asked.

"You know, as I recall, you spend a lot of time making fun of the Flotilla. Not to mention poor Tali's exo-suit."

"Oh, that's different."

"And how exactly is it different?"

"Quarian immune systems are funny."

Shepard grinned. "Seriously, all you turians are racist."

"Not true. If we discriminated against exosuit-wearing employees, we wouldn't keep the volus around."

Quorum District had indoor temperature-controls so the heat wasn't too stifling, just a low simmer that Shepard would have compared to strolling around in a mild sauna. Peering out the windows, however, she caught the merciless glare of a desert sun, scorching white sand and spiky green plants that looked like the bastard offspring of a cactus' illicit love affair with a palm tree. From what she could tell, Palaven was definitely a tropical climate – not so hot that it would burn off the soles of your feet like the surface of Therum - but definitely toasty enough to rival Africa or South America back on Earth, post-global warming. Garrus had mentioned once that it reminded him of Virmire, which wasn't entirely inaccurate in terms of climate, although Virmire had been much more picturesque.

As they walked towards the white spire of the Nexus Tower, a patrol of young turian soldiers filed past, maintaining perfect ranks. Shepard scanned the group for that most elusive of creatures, the female turian. She was dying to see what they looked like, partially out of curiosity and partially because, well, she wanted to scope out the competition. She was disappointed to note that all the turians looked virtually indistinguishable from each other.

"Garrus, this is probably going to sound like a very stupid question..."

"What is it?"

"I've been wondering: where are all the female turians? Do you guys hide them away somewhere, like the krogan? I've been halfway around the galaxy and I don't think I've ever actually seen one."

Garrus coughed. "Um, yes, you have, Shepard. More than once."

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. "Oh. Uh, sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me. But you might want to say sorry to the unit of female recruits that just marched past you."

"Damn. I hope they didn't hear me."

"Don't worry about it. I doubt they heard anything. Just try not to say anything like that in front of the Primarchs, okay? That would not be good diplomacy."

Shepard nodded. "Noted."

She glanced back at the patrol, trying to discern some key physical markers. They did seem a trifle shorter than male turians, their hips were slightly curvier and their eyes were generally a bit larger, darker and more widely-set. Hopefully, they didn't speak with the same reverberant, baritone voices that distinguished the males of their species, because Shepard would have a hell of a time getting used to that. In any case, she'd have to talk to Mordin about the biological differences later. He'd be happy to give her all the lurid details – probably much more information than she ever wanted to know.

They approached the glass doors of the Nexus Tower, the most formidable building in the district. The structure was wide at the bottom, curving up into a pure white obelisk tipped in gleaming gold. According to Garrus, the place had twenty-seven floors to represent the twenty-seven tiers of turian citizenship.

In the building's lobby, there was a massive pyre lit with a roiling blue flame. There were a few turians crouched on mats, offering prayers in front of it.

"What's that all about?" Shepard whispered.

"That's the Millennial Flame. It's a monument to the Spirit of Civic Virtue," Garrus said. Lowering his voice, he added, "Some people call it the Spirit of Lost Causes. Mostly client races who get their citizenship denied."

"You know, the closer I get to the Primarchs, the more I realize how far I'm swimming out of my depth," Shepard said. "I guess I should have done more research."

"Research can definitely be useful, but there's nothing like plunging right in, getting some hands-on experience."

She couldn't stop herself from cracking up at that one. "Plunging right in, huh? Getting hands-on experience? Now I know why a certain someone didn't watch the instructional vids..."

It took Garrus a moment to catch up. "Oh, uh...damn it, Shepard! I didn't mean it like that." He shook his head, giving a benighted sigh. "I never realized you were so dirty-minded."

"Don't blame me, Vakarian. You walked into that one all on your own."

"Hey, look, I don't know how long your meeting is going to go, but I was wondering if you might be interested in stopping by my father's place later. For dinner," he said. "I mean, you couldn't actually eat the food - that would be dangerous - but we could all sit at the same table and..."

"Is your dad going to be okay with that?"

"He said he wanted to know what's going with my life. Besides, I could, um, use some moral support."

She smiled. "That bad, huh?"

"He's just..." He paused, searching for a diplomatic turn of phrase. "...Very invested in my future."

"Garrus, if you want me there, I'm there."

"Great. I'll send the directions to your omni-tool."

"So, any advice before I face the firing squad?"

"Just relax, Shepard. You're human, but you're military through and through. They'll respect that. The rest is just a matter of luck and avoiding the snack table."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Good luck up there."

As Garrus walked away, Shepard had a feeling she might be wise to kneel down on a prayer rug and start petitioning the Spirit of Lost Causes.

* * *

In her time as a Spectre, Shepard had experience many uncomfortable elevator rides. After all, putting a krogan and turian together in an enclosed space with piped-in music wasn't exactly a recipe for friendly conversation. Yet, she'd never truly understood the meaning of awkward elevator time until she squeezed into a Nexus Tower lift with a crowd of cagey turian bureaucrats - and one wheezing volus, who bumbled around, bumping into everyone's legs as he struggled to carry a stack of financial reports. Luckily, by the time she reached the 27th floor, the elevator had cleared out and she could suck in a few deep breaths before it was time to meet the Primarchs.

Two guards and some sort of civic official greeted her at the elevator and checked her credentials.

"Commander Jillian Shepard. Presentation on 'The Reaper Threat to Galactic Security'," the official said, barely bothering to look up from his clipboard. "I should inform you that we've had to revise the schedule. Your presentation time has been reduced to fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes? I was told I'd have thirty."

"Yes, well, priorities change. Some of the Primarchs will be leaving early today."

"Leaving early? May I inquire what they're doing?"

"Attending a luncheon."

"A luncheon? Has it occurred to the honourable Primarchs that stopping the Reapers before they take over the galaxy might just be a little more important than eating miniature sandwiches?"

"I'm not sure precisely what these 'Reapers' are, but fifteen minutes should be a sufficient amount of time to explain their significance. Or lack thereof," he replied. "Are you planning on presenting an omni-tool slideshow?"

"No. Look, I don't suppose there's anything I could say to convince you to revise the schedule?" she asked.

The turian frowned. "I hope you aren't suggesting a bribe, Commander."

"Of course not. What I was suggesting is that you might give an extra ten minutes to the soldier who stopped Saren and saved the Council. As a favour. One that I might have the opportunity to repay one of these days."

The official pondered this, narrowing his yellow-green eyes. "You're the Spectre? I thought that name sounded familiar. But I thought you were dead."

"The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."

"Alright, in that case...I think a slight time extension might be possible. I'll squeeze out the presentation from the Volus Anti-Defamation Society. That should give you an extra fifteen minutes to make your case."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Shepard strolled past him and through the double doors that led into the Primacy Chamber. There was one word that immediately sprang to mind upon entering the conference room...

"Impressive," she murmured.

The twelve Primarchs and their guest of honour, Councillor Velarn, sat in a semi-circle around a pristine marble table, their military posture rendered even more imposing by massive mahogany chairs. Seating herself on one of the marble benches provided for petitioners, Shepard gazed up at a high-vaulted ceiling featuring a galactic map, with each of the recognized turian colonies adorned in gold-leaf and the planets of client races marked in silver.

A few more attendees filed in, all of them turians and none of them particularly friendly-looking. She'd been hoping for a few volus, perhaps even the odd asari or salarian. Sitting alone on her bench, Shepard was starting to feel a bit outnumbered.

As the meeting began, it became obvious that the Primarch of Invictus was the most influential member of the Primacy Council and the one she would need to convince. She – and from the moment she spoke, Shepard was entirely persuaded that she was a "she" – asked most of the questions and even challenged Councillor Velarn on a few points without finding herself on the receiving end of his usual sarcastic bluster. By contrast, the elderly Primarch of Palaven, who the Alliance intel had posited to be a major political player, seemed tired and weak, relegating himself to the role of peacekeeper between other, more impassioned council members. An hour into the proceedings, he invited Shepard to present her case for mobilization against the Reaper threat.

Shepard rose to her feet. "I am honoured that the Primacy Council has allowed me to speak at this meeting. The Reapers are the most pressing danger that exists in this galaxy and they don't discriminate on the basis of species, creed or culture. They plan to destroy all of us. If we're going to stop them from annihilating every sentient being in existence, we must stand together. It's in this spirit of unity that I come to you today, asking for the assistance of the Turian Hierarchy."

She paused, assessing the faces of the Primarchs. One quick glance at Councillor Velarn was enough to tell her everything she needed to know about his attitude. He was fuming at her impertinence. After all, her crazy ranting about the so-called "Reapers" was going to delay his luncheon.

"Commander Shepard, how pleasant to see you," Velarn said, in a voice that implied that he'd rather see the Rachni Queen and an army of angry krogan. "I didn't realize that you'd have occasion to visit Palaven. In fact, I was under the impression that you'd be fully occupied on the Citadel, trying to mitigate the consequences of your latest scandal."

"I'm a Spectre, Councillor. If I wasn't making waves, I wouldn't be doing my job."

"I don't think it's a Spectre's job to be a beacon for bad publicity."

"Yes, but a good Spectre doesn't let political games stand in the way of ensuring galactic security," she replied. "As you'll recall, I didn't exactly have the establishment on my side when I flew to Ilos to save the Citadel. That was one victory against the Reapers. I'm here today, because I believe that, with your support, we can eliminate the Reaper threat and stop the cycle of destruction that led to the extinction of the Protheans and countless species before them."

"I do recall your renegade mission to Ilos, Commander. We are grateful that you were able to stop Saren's invasion of the Citadel," Velarn said. "Yet I also recall you presenting this particular issue to the Council several months ago. And as I remember it, we ruled that there was insufficient evidence to support your crackpot theories about the race of malevolent sentient ships you call 'Reapers'. Surely the Primacy has enough business to deal with without having to vote on matters that have already been dealt with by the Council?"

The Primarch of Invictus cast a sideways glance at her superior, her silver-streaked face inscrutable. "I appreciate your concern for the Primacy's time, Councillor. However, considering Commander Shepard's service record, I believe we would be remiss not to grant her a fair hearing."

"Her behaviour is certainly unorthodox," the Primarch of Palaven said. "Perhaps, Velarn, we can give the Commander an opportunity to explain herself?"

"Oh, what does it matter?" Velarn muttered. "Go ahead and listen to her delusions if you want. Just don't forget that the Council rules."

And so Shepard told them the story of the Protheans, a narrative cut short by the invasion of the Reapers. She explained the nature of Sovereign, his power and his pride, and even the more terrifying forces at Harbinger's command. Making use of her omni-tool, she produced all the evidence, all the ammunition she could muster to further her cause: the matching DNA strands that confirmed the Collectors had been Protheans, the sample analysis Mordin had conducted on all relevant biological materials, the data Tali and Legion had collected from synthetic sources.

She noted that while the geth were inventive and adaptive users of tech, they couldn't possibly have had the resources to build a ship like Sovereign or to control a species of mindless drones like the Collectors. There had to be a puppet-master pulling the strings, a power behind the mass relays, the FTL drives and the wonder of the Citadel. Whereas they once had assumed that this force was benign, the magnanimous gifts of a lost civilization, it was time to come to consider the possibility that this technology was not a glorious inheritance, but a trap devised to capture and kill unknowing prey.

"Will we resign ourselves to being the Reapers' victims? Will we let the cycle continue?" Shepard said. "I, for one, will not sit cowering in the Citadel while the Reapers destroy everyone and everything in this galaxy. I will fight until they take the last breath from my body. And if all the legends I've heard about unbreakable turian honour are true, then the Hierarchy will stand up and fight with me. If we stand together, we can achieve what no other civilization, not even the Protheans, has done before. We can defeat the Reapers."

Throughout most of her speech, her voice was loud and impassioned, even, at moments, a bit strident, as she sought to press her case. Yet, near the end, her tone became softer and her voice faltered, not from lack of confidence, but from an excess of strain and emotion. She had poured everything out and it took effort to reach the end.

The Primacy Chamber held a resonant silence, one that drummed against her ears. She looked around the room, hoping to find supporters, but no one would meet her eyes, not until after the Primarchs gave their ruling. Shepard awaited an answer.


	4. Authorities

The Primarch of Palaven was the first to answer her. "You present us with impassioned rhetoric, Commander and I do not doubt the strength of your convictions..."

"Oh, yes, she is certainly a _well-spoken_ lunatic. Good at long-winded speeches, but lamentably short on logic," Velarn interrupted.

"With all due respect, Councillor, I believe Commander Shepard raised several thought-provoking points," the Primarch of Invictus said. "We know very little about the origins of the technology we use or the history of our galaxy. This ignorance presents a serious problem for the defence of our colonies. The Collectors went after human settlers. The next threat from dark space might go after our colonists."

This provoked alarmed looks and murmurs of agreement from several of the other Primarchs. From watching news vids, Shepard knew that turian colonies had recently been hit by another wave of batarian pirate raids.

"Palaven and the Citadel are always well-defended, while the colonies are left in the dust," one of the Primarchs said. "If there's an invasion coming from dark space, we're the ones who'll suffer first."

"I can assure you that the next threat from dark space won't be a fleet of immortal sentient spaceships," Velarn sneered. "So let's quell those fears, shall we?"

This prompted a few laughs from the back row of petitioners. Shepard turned in her seat, glaring at the culprits. It wasn't as if Velarn needed any more encouragement to make caustic remarks. He already seemed to be under the impression that he was a great wit and took undisguised pleasure in mouthing off about human recklessness and folly at every opportunity.

"It is an improbable tale," Palaven noted.

Invictus leaned her elbows on the table, directing her comments first to Palaven and then to Velarn, who appeared to be her ultimate target. "And this galaxy contains many improbable forms of life. Think of the hanar, the elcor, the vorcha or for that matter, humanity. We know so little. It would be foolish to simply dismiss the claims of a Spectre, especially one who has proven reliable in the past."

Shepard gave a slight nod, her lips stretching into a grateful smile. She was about to speak in support of this when Velarn cut in, his voice laden with a martyred patience that suggested that he was growing very, very weary of having to deal with fools, cowards and incompetents.

"The Council has dismissed those claims. We've been listening to them since the incident at Eden Prime. We've examined the evidence and found no indication that these so-called 'Reapers' are anything more than a product of Shepard's fevered imaginings."

"And that's exactly what the Reapers want us to believe," Shepard protested. "They benefit from the element of surprise. They're not going leave proof of their existence just lying around."

"How very convenient," Velarn muttered. "You have an explanation for everything, don't you?"

"No, I can't explain why the Council is wilfully ignoring the greatest threat this galaxy has ever faced. That's one thing I'll never understand."

"Without solid evidence, we must stand by the decision of the Council," Palaven said.

"It is too early to rule on this. There is far too much at stake here," Invictus asserted. "We must give the Commander more time to investigate."

Velarn scoffed, the elaborate white tattoos on his face shifting into another pattern entirely. "More time? That's preposterous. We are only gathered here for another week. I, for one, don't plan on waiting around to listen to Shepard's ravings when I have business on the Citadel."

"Let her have another week then," Invictus said. "It is the very least we can do. If she can present no further evidence at that time, we will let the matter rest."

A few of the Primarchs registered their approval of this resolution, nodding and pounding their hands against the tabletop. Shepard had observed that the colonies seemed to band together against Palaven and the Council, a distressing phenomenon when one considered the history of the Unification Wars. Nevertheless, the divisions in the Council might work to her advantage, especially if the colonials had chosen Invictus as their leader.

"That seems reasonable enough," Palaven conceded. "We will delay our ruling on this until the final session of this year's Primacy Council. You have one week to present us with evidence that these 'Reapers' actually exist, Commander."

"Oh, very well. One week, then," Velarn said grudgingly. "And when you come back empty-handed, Shepard, you can apologize to the Primarchs and to the Council for wasting our time with your ceaseless demands for attention."

One week. She hadn't been able to convince the Council of the Reapers' existence over the course of nearly four years, but somehow she had to find proof to persuade the Primarchs in seven days. That wasn't even enough time to travel to Omega and back. Why didn't they just ask her to turn cartwheels, juggle dark matter and turn Citadel sewer water into Thessian wine? Still, an extension was better than an outright dismissal. Maybe she could chip away at the resentments between the colonies and Palaven - a dangerous course, to be sure, but one that might give her an advantage in a final vote.

"Alright," she said. "It's a short time span, but I'll track down more information. I appreciate the Primacy Council's consideration."

After the meeting was disbanded, Shepard found Councillor Velarn casting a long shadow over her. She was used to speaking to his holo-image and she'd forgotten how tall he was in-person or that condescension wafted off him, palpable as a foul odour.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself, Shepard. This little stunt of yours doesn't mean anything. You can't circle around the authority of the Council."

"Really? Because it looks like I just did."

"You'd be best to watch yourself, Commander. We can revoke that Spectre status of yours. And with it, goes all your legal immunity," Velarn said. "Don't push us too far or you may find that you're a rogue, being hunted across the galaxy by another potential hero. That will have certain irony, won't it, considering how you made your own reputation?"

"There's a big difference between me and Saren."

Velarn gave a snide chuckle. "Indeed? Because I see a power-hungry Spectre, an apparent hero but also a known collaborator with the rachni, the krogan and the geth. Doesn't that description sound familiar, Shepard?

"I'm not seeing the comparison."

"Don't be obtuse. What are you building an army for, Commander?"

She stared at him, unsure of how seriously to take him. "If I'm building a coalition, Councillor, it's because I want us to be prepared for the Reapers. As I said in the meeting, we need to stand together on this."

"The Reapers don't exist. Perhaps you have another intended target?"

"If I wanted the Council dead, Velarn, I would've let Sovereign finish the job two years ago. Don't make me regret my decision," she said. "Now, you'll have to excuse me, but I have other important business to attend to. Why don't you run along now to that little luncheon of yours?"

Velarn's mandibles flared, his black eyes narrowing with menace. "You haven't won here, Shepard. All you've been given is a reprieve."

"If I haven't won, Councillor, then why are you so angry?"

She turned her back on him and walked away, wishing that she had the option just to disconnect the transmission as she had back in the old days on the Normandy. Sometimes face-to-face communications were so inconvenient.

In the hallway, the Primarch of Invictus brushed past Shepard, carrying a stack of files. A data-pad slid from atop the pile and dropped onto the floor, but the busy representative kept walking, seeming not to notice the error.

Shepard stooped down and picked up the data-pad. It was a note addressed to her.

_Commander Shepard: _

_The holdings of the late Saren Arterius are being catalogued for auction by the Internal Affairs Bureau. The Arterius estate is located on Palaven's second moon, Auctoritas. Might be interesting to see what is there_.

She tucked the datapad into her jacket pocket, encouraged by the Primarch's trust in her. She hadn't realized that Saren had left so many possessions, but in retrospect, it made sense. His exploits, investments and a lot of backroom political dealings had made the turian wealthy and he had no family remaining to inherit his property. Hidden amidst his old papers and accounts, there had to be some indication of Saren's cooperation with Sovereign and the Reapers or at the very least, something that would prove that he couldn't have commanded the loyalty of the geth heretics on his own. It would be a good place to start...but she'd get cracking on that tomorrow.

This afternoon, she had another high-stress scenario to deal with, namely, her dinner with the Vakarians. Admittedly, it wasn't an issue of galactic significance, but she was still hoping to make a good impression – or, well, as good an impression as she could make, considering her obvious lack of mandibles, fringe and dextro-amino proteins. Trying to ignore the ticking clock set by the Primacy Council's deadline, she left the Nexus Tower and hunted out a grocery store, where she bought a pricey bottle of wine and paid to have it gift-wrapped. The gift-wrapping job was actually surprisingly well-done, considering how difficult it must have been for the turian clerk to spread out the delicate tissue paper and tie the red ribbon into a sprightly bow with her vicious-looking talons.

On her way to the Metro, Shepard came across a salarian fast food franchise, Mr. Yum. While people back on Earth still claimed fast food as a human invention, the salarians had developed the idea into a true inter-galactic craze, producing breakfasts, lunches and dinners at frenzied speeds that only a forty-year life span could justify. A second after Shepard ordered a Yum Combo #2 to go, a brown bag full of package food shot out of a mysterious purple chute and landed in her hands.

"Five credits, please," said an awkward young turian in a polyester shirt and a funny paper hat. Shepard paid up. Humming a little song to herself, a tune they used to play in Flux, she ventured down into the Metro to catch the east-bound train to Honoria station. According to Garrus' instructions, it was the closest stop to the apartment complex where his father lived.

When she arrived at the apartment building, she had to check the address again, just to make sure she was at the right place. The building was spotlessly clean, par for the course on Palaven, but old and plain with few amenities, not even an elevator. It wasn't the sort of location she'd expected a C-Sec veteran and decorated hero like Cereus Vakarian would choose to spend his retirement. Walking up the stairs to the third floor, she found the door marked '347' and rang the buzzer.

Garrus answered the door. "Hey Shepard, come on in."

"I brought wine," she said, grinning. "Best I could afford on a Spectre's salary."

A turian with blue and white facial tattoos limped towards them, leaning heavily on a metal cane. Family resemblance aside, the intensity behind his silvery-green eyes would have been enough to inform Shepard that he was Cereus Vakarian. At the moment, those keen eyes were trained on her, their gaze cold and appraising, as if assessing the potential of a new recruit.

"This is Commander Jillian Shepard," Garrus said.

When Cereus Vakarian spoke, he had a gravelly stentorian voice that seemed to rumble up from the earth itself. "And so we meet at last, Commander. I don't know what you've heard about me, but I've certainly heard a few things about you."

Shepard shook his hand. "I knew you by reputation, of course, but it's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Vakarian."

"I don't go by that title any more. Cereus is just fine. I've passed that other legacy on to Garrus here."

Shepard smiled. "I don't exactly walk around forcing people to call me 'Commander' either. Jillian is just fine, although everybody seems to think that Shepard has a nicer ring to it."

"Blame Wrex," Garrus said. "He's the one who started it."

Cereus' mandibles twitched, his mouth shaping itself into an expression that Shepard could only read as a disapproving frown. "Ah, yes. Your krogan mercenary friend. How amusing."

Garrus passed the bottle wine over to his father, anxious to change the subject. "Hey, Shepard even brought you a gift. I think she's trying to make me look bad."

Cereus examined the bottle of wine, turning it around in his hands. "Thank you, Commander. A fine gesture. We don't use intoxicants in this house but I'm sure to find a use for it. If nothing else, alcohol is good for disinfecting wounds."

Garrus seemed embarrassed, giving Shepard an apologetic glance over his father's shoulder. "You know, one glass of wine over dinner isn't going to hurt anything. It's quality stuff."

"No doubt, no doubt." Hobbling into the den, Cereus stowed the bottle away in a cabinet. "I certainly appreciate the thought."

"I wasn't aware that..." Shepard said.

"Not your fault," Cereus said. "I suspect that my son has picked up some slovenly habits since he left Palaven."

"I enjoy a drink or two on occasion," Garrus replied. "Shepard can tell you that I'm not belly-up to the bar every night."

Shepard cupped a hand over her lips, stifling a laugh. Compared to her fondness for the rounds of free drinks that came with being the Hero of the Citadel, Garrus was practically a teetotaller. After all, he and Tali had been the ones who'd had to peel her off the bathroom floor after she chugged down a glass of ryncol at the Dark Star. Oh yes, and apparently it had been the men's bathroom. She hoped that Cereus wouldn't be hearing about that in a summary of her heroic exploits.

Shepard looked around the room, noting the collection of rifles arranged on the far wall. On an antique bureau, there were family holos and military commendations, including what appeared to be a faded image of a female turian – Garrus' mother, maybe? Shepard wanted to inspect them further, but doubted that Cereus would take kindly to her curiosity.

"Don't worry. Garrus goes easy on the alcohol. And he's definitely good at his job," she said, sitting down on the sofa. It was a remarkably uncomfortable piece of furniture with hard cushions and an awkward backrest that seemed calculated to give the sitter perfect posture at the expense of all notions of rest or relaxation.

Garrus sat on the couch too, but he positioned himself at a careful distance that suggested he had a deathly fear of bumping knees, touching thighs or any other sort of accident physical contact that might occur while under the scrutiny of his father.

"Yes, but as I have often had occasion to remind him, good intentions mean nothing without discipline," Cereus said, resting his cane against the edge of the coffee table. He eased himself down into a ragged armchair that was clearly at least a decade older than Garrus. "You're the first human Spectre, are you not?"

"That's what I'm told," she said, smiling.

"That must be quite a feather in your cap. Do you enjoy your work?"

His tone was jovial, calculated to make a loaded question sound innocuous, but Shepard sensed that he was deploying tricks from old C-Sec interrogations. In fact, the more she spoke to him, the more he reminded her of Executor Pallin. Actually, it was kind of...uncanny. The conflict between Garrus and his former boss didn't seem like such a coincidence anymore.

"I enjoy the results of my work," she answered. "It gives me a chance to make a difference. I don't think anybody in military or law enforcement work can ask for anything more than that. "

"Of course, you must enjoy the freedoms too, not having to be accountable to a superior officer..."

"I'm accountable to the Alliance military and to the Council. If they don't like what I'm doing, I'm sure to hear about it. In great detail."

"Hmm. Well, I guess that's somewhat...reassuring. Has Garrus told you that he was considered as a candidate for the Spectres?"

"Yes, I mentioned it," Garrus said. "I also told her that it was a real long-shot. A one-in- one-thousand chance."

Shepard threw him a smile, trying to put him at ease. "I think your chances were a heck of a lot better than that. If I made it, you could've done it too."

Garrus chuckled. "Rrright. Because they just hand that stuff out. Modesty doesn't suit you, Shepard."

"The Spectre application was more of a youthful whim than anything else, I believe," Cereus said. "But I was relieved that he didn't follow through with it. You'll excuse me for saying so, Commander, but there is a great potential for corruption within the Spectres."

"Shepard is careful," Garrus replied. "When she cuts through red tape, she does it very gently."

Cereus frowned. "Red tape is usually there for a reason."

An alarm sounded and Garrus sprang off the couch, rushing towards a small white-tiled room that Shepard assumed was the kitchen. "Damn. Just be a second."

"Language!" Cereus admonished him. The old turian shook his head at Shepard, looking particularly disappointed and paternal.

Shepard smelled smoke and the odour of something burning. She was suddenly relieved that she had a very convincing biological excuse to eat salarian take-out instead of whatever science experiment Garrus was concocting in the other room.

She heard the oven door slam shut and the sound of Garrus scuffling around, making frantic preparations in the kitchen. "I'm actually a pretty good cook," he insisted. "I just got distracted...Oh, crap."

Some pots rattled around and then something clanged against the floor. If Garrus didn't come out of the kitchen in a few minutes, Shepard resolved to storm in and rescue him from the debris.

Cereus leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice. "I think it's time that you told me something. What precisely is your relationship to my son?"

"We've been friends for a long time."

He drew back, pondering this. "Yes, I gathered that. Good friends, no doubt. Now, tell me, if you were in my position, do you think you would be happy about seeing your son entangled in such a...relation?"

"I think that I'd want my son to be happy."

"You humans are so fond of this concept of happiness. It's self-centred, individualistic, the attitude of a spoiled child. Turians understand that true satisfaction comes from fulfillment of one's duties, from having a place in one's community and the galactic order."

"I don't think the two things are mutually exclusive," Shepard said.

"That's just because you haven't had to choose. A real turian will always choose honour."

Garrus marched out of the kitchen, apparently triumphant in his battle against dinner. There was oven grease smeared on the side of his face. He looked between them, seeming to sense the tension in the air. "Supper's ready. What did I miss?"

Shepard opted to fib. "Your dad was just telling me some stories about what you were like as a kid."

"Oh, that doesn't sound good. I hope he didn't mention a certain hunting incident."

Cereus gave a hoarse chuckle. "The time you shot yourself in the foot? No, I didn't make any mention of that."

"Wow. I'd always figured you for a natural sharpshooter, Garrus."

"Look, I was six years old. It was my very first expedition. I didn't realize the safety was off."

Garrus went back into the kitchen and carted out the main course, a charred piece of blue meat surrounded by rubbery green vegetables that reminded Shepard of brussel sprouts, except even more alien-looking. Cereus lifted the cover of a steaming tureen and ladled out a strange orange sauce on top of the meat.

"Good dinner," he said, between forkfuls.

"Thanks," Garrus said. "Wait, I've got something for you too, Shepard. Human food."

He disappeared into the kitchen again and came out carrying a plate of french fries and six charred pieces of bacon. In the middle of the plate, there was a sizable pat of butter that Garrus seemed to have mistaken for a side dish.

Shepard grinned, quickly concealing the bag of food she'd picked up at Mr. Yum's. "Wow."

"Sorry. I, uh, burned the bason. But it won't kill you, I promise."

She reached up to adjust her translator. "You mean the bacon?"

"Wait, that's how you say it? Bay-kon. Hmm. No wonder the guys at the store were looking at me funny."

"Thanks. This looks great."

She forked a piece of blackened bacon and ate it. It wasn't bad at all, just crunchy, tasting of carbon.

"I hope I didn't mess up the butter. Mordin says humans really like butter."

"No, uh, the butter's good," Shepard said. "I'm just going to have a little though. Don't want to spoil myself."

"Tell me, Garrus, how has your work at C-Sec been progressing?" Cereus asked. "You must have made some criminals very angry to earn that scar of yours."

Shepard shot a glance at Garrus and the guilty look on his face confirmed her suspicions. He hadn't told his father about leaving C-Sec again or that he'd spent nearly two years as a vigilante on Omega.

"Um, actually, I was meaning to tell you...I decided to leave C-Sec," Garrus said. "Things just weren't working out for me there."

Cereus' fork rattled against his plate, a sharp, tinny sound. "What do you mean, it wasn't 'working out for you'? Were you making busts? Getting convictions?"

"Yeah."

"Then what was the problem?"

"I don't know. It just felt pointless. No matter how hard I worked, nothing changed. It was just the same crimes, the same system repeating itself over and over. And then Shepard died and I didn't see any reason to put up with it anymore."

"Shepard died? She's sitting right there, eating bacon."

"He isn't lying. I was dead for a while, but it didn't stick," Shepard explained. "It's a long story."

Cereus did not look amused. "So you quit your job because Commander Shepard was temporarily dead. What an excellent career plan. And what, may I ask, do you intend to do with your life?"

"He's serving as second-in-command on the Normandy, the most advanced ship in Council space," Shepard said.

Garrus blinked at her, obviously startled. He'd gradually been acquiring the duties of her XO for a couple of months now, but she'd never mentioned making the promotion official.

"I see," Cereus said. "And what other revelations do you have in store for me? You might as well tell me now."

Garrus sighed, shovelling the food around on his plate. "Alright, you asked for it. I went to Omega and started a squad to fight the gangs there."

"Go on."

"That's where I picked up the scar. The leader of the Blue Suns figured he'd rearrange my face a bit with his gunship. Of course, some people think it's an improvement."

Cereus' expression was grim. "So you were a vigilante."

"I had to make those bastards on Omega pay."

For once, his father was too distracted to complain about disrespectful language. "Pay for what?"

Garrus stared down at the blue and white checkers on the tablecloth. "For their crimes."

"So you committed crimes to make them see the error of their ways. That makes a vast deal of sense."

"It wasn't like that. My squad and I, we were enforcing justice in a city without laws."

"Were you serving justice or taking out your own frustrations on group of petty thieves? You seem to forget that there's a difference between the two."

"You wanted to know what I did. I told you," Garrus snapped. "My squad was massacred. My mission on Omega failed, so you can spare me the lecture."

Cereus was calm, completely controlled in the face of his son's anger. "Fine. No lecture. But you seem to be leaving one thing out, one very significant detail."

"What?"

"Her." Cereus nodded at Shepard.

Shepard scraped her chair back from the table. "Look, if I'm making things uncomfortable, I can leave. I didn't come to cause trouble."

Garrus put a hand on her shoulder. "Shepard, don't go. It's time he heard the truth. I want him to make him understand."

She settled back into her seat again, unsure of what to do. Part of her was tempted to intervene, to defend him against his father, but it felt wrong to insert herself in their relationship, which was obviously...complicated. And it wasn't if his dad didn't have a few good points to go along with the puritanical disposition and thinly veiled anti-human sentiments. Garrus' crusade on Omega had definitely honed his skills, but his obsession with sticking it to the criminal element had been damned unhealthy, almost a death wish. She couldn't blame Cereus for being displeased about it. It made her feel antsy too.

Garrus turned to his father. "Go ahead. Ask me. What do you want to know?"

"She says you're old friends. Precisely how friendly are you?"

He reached along the table and clasped Shepard's hand. "Just as friendly as two people can be. Does that answer your question?"

"I'd heard certain unsavoury rumours from my old contacts, but I dismissed them as idle gossip," Cereus said. "The son I knew wouldn't let himself fall under the influence of a female human, one who doesn't respect for our way of doing things. I didn't start to believe any of it until you brought her under this roof."

"Well, I guess seeing is believing," Garrus said. "You're just going to have to accept it."

Cereus looked at Shepard. "Commander, would you kindly excuse us? I wish to converse with my son in private."

"Then I think it's time we both left." Garrus bolted up from the table, almost toppling his chair behind him. "You don't have anything to say to me that she can't hear."

Shepard stood up. "No. It's alright. I should be heading back to the Normandy anyway. Lots of business to take care of."

She turned to Garrus, softening her voice. "You should stay here. Work things out."

As she walked out of the apartment, her brown-bagged Yum Combo #2 in hand, she could hear Garrus speaking to his father, his voice a strained whisper.

"Honestly, did you have to do that? Are you happy now?"

"It's for the best," Cereus assured him. "Perhaps it seems harsh now, but I only want the best for you."

Shepard shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, drawing in a ragged breath. She reached up and swiped at the tears welling in her eyes.

A turian walked by, casting a nervous glance at the human crying outside the apartment door. He looked embarrassed to have caught her at it, almost as mortified as she was to have been observed. Rubbing her face one last time, she stood upright and headed back towards the stairs.

It was stupid. Masochistic. Shepard hadn't gotten into this - this thing with Garrus, whatever it was - to make herself cry. It'd started out as flirtation, just fun and games, two friends taking refuge in each other's arms and finding some brief comfort amidst all of the ugliness associated with Cerberus and the Collectors. There weren't supposed to be consequences. She hadn't been thinking that far ahead, not when they were heading into a suicide mission where one or both of them could wind up dead.

When the mission was done, she thought it would end, that they'd finally come to their senses and accept that this private romance they'd been playing out wasn't substantial enough for real-life. But quite suddenly, the fun affair, their crazy cross-cultural experiment, had become something much more serious. All at once, there were deeper feelings at stake, emotions she'd never thought about, although it occurred to her that they'd always been there and she might've noticed them if she'd just scratched the surface. Even back when they were still chasing Saren, she remembered feeling jealous when she saw an asari chatting up Garrus at Flux. She'd been involved with Kaiden then and she shouldn't have resented her friend garnering some female attention, but it'd annoyed her nonetheless. When they got back to the Normandy, she'd made a point of razzing him about it just to make sure he wasn't too hung up on the girl. For his part, Garrus used to get shy around her sometimes, which she'd chalked up to a lack of experience being around humans, who were generally more expressive and impulsive than turians. He'd always been absurdly protective of her too, which used to make the others laugh, because, dressed in heavy armour and wielding an assault rifle, she didn't look like much of a candidate for a dashing rescue.

If she'd looked closer and really considered their history, she might've realized the potential for complications, the possibility of painful distractions from the mission. But it was too late to dodge the bullet now. She'd gotten attached to him and if she had to let go, it was going to hurt a lot, maybe even worse than waking up strapped to a gurney, with gouges ripped from her cheeks and the dreadful, slow-rising consciousness that she'd just come back from the dead. As for love - hell, she'd always loved Garrus. He was her best friend. No matter what, she'd resolved not to screw that up. No matter what.

When Shepard reached her quarters in the Normandy, she'd intended to get some work done, maybe start prepping her report to the Alliance. Instead, she sat down at her desk and ate her fast-food dinner while she watched the vids, flipping channels between a police procedural about C-Sec officers on the mean wards of the Citadel and a moronic sitcom about an apartment full of attractive asari singletons and their very confusing sex lives. She made a point of avoiding the news channels. When the shows were over, she stripped down, turned out the lights and snuggled into bed, grateful that she was tired, that she would be able to sleep and not rack her brain thinking about Garrus and his father and the Primacy Council and the secrets of Saren bloody Arterius. Today had definitely been a case of too many turians.

Shepard woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Glancing over at her digital clock, she saw that it read 2:30 am and groaned, pulling the sheets up over her ears. The knocking sounded again, but this time it was gentler, a bit more tentative.

She got up, draping her robe around her body. The sash had gone missing, so she had to hold it together by crossing her arms over her waist.

"I'm coming. This better be good, though. In case you didn't notice, it's the middle of the night."

Opening the door, she locked eyes with her late-night visitor.


	5. Old Wounds, New Scars

"Hey, are you alright?"

Garrus didn't answer her. Instead, he pushed into the room, pressing her back against the smooth surface of the plate-glass window where she kept her collection of model ships. Leaning down, he nuzzled his face against her neck, his hands groping her breasts, then trailing down her waist and caressing her hips.

She smiled. "That's a hell of a greeting. Did you –"

"Don't talk."

Under normal circumstances, the aggression wouldn't have worried her – actually, it was pretty hot - but in the context of the last few days, it didn't feel right. Whoever this person was, this pushy stranger who came barging into her room in the middle of the night without a word of explanation, he wasn't the Garrus Vakarian she knew. And truthfully, she wasn't sure she enjoyed being a prop, a body that he could vent his frustrations on, no matter how good it felt.

Shepard kissed the side of his face, one, twice, careful not to disturb the metal pins that attached the grafted skin to the scarred flesh of his cheek. When he didn't take the hint to slow down, she caught at his shoulders, trying to get him to ease back, but hand-to-hand combat specialist that he was, he manage to pin her arms up over her head. The guy definitely had reach. No false advertising there.

"Whoa, hold up," she said, struggling out of his embrace. "I like the enthusiasm, but there's no need to pop the heat sink, buddy."

"I just want -"

As he drew back, one of his talons got caught in the satin sleeve of her robe. Still drowsy, Shepard moved her arm to untangle it and felt a sharp claw slice into the inside of her wrist and rip itself out. She flinched, blood trickling down on her arm and spotting the floor tiles.

Garrus managed to disentangle himself and stood there staring at the gash in her arm. "Damn. Shepard, I didn't mean to – I'm sorry. It was an accident."

Shepard crouched down to the floor, clutching her wrist and putting pressure on the wound to stem the bleeding. "There're bandages in the bathroom cabinet. Behind the mirror."

"Right. Of course."

He rushed into the bathroom and came out with enough bandage fabric to mummify her. He did a good job of dressing the wound though, especially considering how badly his hands were shaking.

She looked down at the blood clouding the bandages. "Not bad, Vakarian. You're better at first aid than I figured."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's what happens when you get cut up by mercs and have to put in your own stitches," he said. "That wasn't a good day."

She regarded his face, noting the shell-shocked look in his eyes. His jaw was clenched, his fierce-looking teeth clamped together – it reminded her of the old cliché, 'shut like a steel trap'.

"Did you work stuff out with your father?"

Garrus hesitated before he answered. "That's – a subject I'd prefer not to talk about."

"So the answer is no." And from what she could tell, it was chewing him up inside.

"He thinks he knows what I need. Hell, he thinks he knows what everyone needs. I'm starting to understand why my mother up and left."

"She – what?" Shepard stared at him, hurt and uncomprehending. "I thought she passed away."

"Oh. Yeah. Guess I wasn't very clear about that. The vagueness, well, sometimes it's intentional. Another thing to apologize for. I really am just racking up the points today, aren't I?"

She sighed, fidgeting with the metal clasp on her bandage. "You can keep secrets. It's just a surprise. Your dad kept going on about how turians are so traditional and always do their duty. All that stuff about honour..."

"Is a load of garbage," he said, finishing her sentence. "He wishes it were like that. But in case you didn't notice, he has some unusual ideas. Even among turians. Being a kid in that house was...not easy."

"I'm not saying he isn't hard to deal with. But your family are supposed to drive you crazy. He obviously cares about you. You don't think that's worth saving?"

Garrus took a deep breath. "I tried, Shepard. But what he's doing now - I'm not sure I can forgive him for that."

"Okay, I'm not following."

"He told me that if I don't stay on Palaven, he's going to hold an intervention. You know what that means?"

She raised an eyebrow inquiringly, picturing Garrus' dad trying to haul him into rehab. "Isn't that what people do for drug addicts? He doesn't think you're an alcoholic, does he? The wine – it was just a present!"

Garrus gave a dry chuckle, one that had a touch of the old Omega bitterness. "No. Maybe that's what an intervention means for humans, but not for turians. It's a criminal proceeding. Against me. He can charge that I'm not doing my duties as a citizen of Palaven and the Hierarchy."

"And?"

"If the magistrate finds me guilty and I don't comply with the court's recommendations, they can take away my citizenship. Some people have even been sentenced to hard labour."

"That's insane. There's no way he can do that."

"Unfortunately, there is. I've been careless. I shouldn't have told him anything. Better to just keep quiet. As it stands, he has a pretty convincing case."

She gave a disdainful sniff at the Hierarchy's legal system. "Okay, so you quit C-Sec. Big deal."

"I've been working around the law, Shepard. Disobeying orders. Stupid orders, but a turian court isn't going to make that distinction. They don't like vigilantes. It doesn't help that I'm working on a ship that's still registered to Cerberus."

"We can change the Normandy's registry data. Tali and EDI can manage that in no time at all."

"That's not the point."

"Okay, well, explain it to me. I'm human. I don't get it."

"It's hard to explain," he protested.

She waited in silence, watching him grind his teeth together in frustration.

"Okay," he said. "In the Hierarchy, you can do anything you want as long as it doesn't hurt other people or interfere with you being good at your job."

"Anything?"

"Pretty much. Do drugs, join a cult, dye your fringe green – doesn't matter. But if any of that gets in the way of your work or the functioning of the Hierarchy, you're supposed to shape up and cut it out of your life, for good, or there'll be consequences. Understand?"

"I think so."

"Look, Shepard, I don't know how to say this, but -" he stopped himself in mid-sentence, shaking his head . "Look, it doesn't matter, alright? Let's forget about it."

"No. I want to hear it."

"My father wants me to stop seeing you."

"Romantically?"

"No," he said. "'Seeing you'. As in standing within a 500-metre radius."

"That's harsh. I didn't realize I was a stalker."

He cracked a smile, which reassured her a little. "Damn, Shepard, that's not funny. My father's serious. He thinks that being on the Normandy, being around you, has changed me. I told him it wasn't true, but he thinks that you talked me into quitting C-Sec to go chase Saren."

Now that irritated her. Such a shining example of parental logic. Garrus had suggested they should shoot Saren in the head rather than risk taking him to trial and yet she was supposed to be the 'bad influence'.

"You know, as I remember it, you were the one twisting my arm," she said.

"I told him that. Either he doesn't believe me or he doesn't want to admit that I'm not the person he thought I was."

"Do you want to stay here on Palaven? Do you want to end this? Leave the ship?"

"Hell, no," he replied. "That's why I'm sorry I even brought it up. He can hold his intervention if he wants to, but I won't be hanging around for it."

"Garrus, it sounds important. You should at least show up. Even if you don't want a relationship with your dad, you need to keep your citizenship."

He shrugged. "I can go without it. Playing by the Hierarchy's rules is a pain in the ass, anyway."

"If you lose your citizenship, it's going to be a lot harder to clear port security. The Hierarchy may not be fun to deal with, but you've seen all the red tape at C-Sec these days. Do you really want to deal with that everywhere we go?"

"Tali or Kasumi can forge some data for me. Besides, it's not going to be a fair trial. There's no reason to bother."

She reached out, giving his shoulder a friendly nudge. "C'mon. I'm not saying you have to go along with what your dad wants. Just put in an appearance. State your case. If it doesn't work out, then you can say to hell with them. But you might as well go down fighting."

Garrus contemplated this. "Hmm. Yeah, I guess you're right. Doesn't mean I'm going to like it."

"We'll get through it, okay?" she said. "Now, please, either come to bed or go calibrate something. I need to get some rest."

To make her point, Shepard crept back into bed, closing her eyes and pulling the blanket up around her head. A minute later, she felt the bedsprings sag under his weight as he eased himself down on the mattress and got under the blanket. Garrus wrapped an arm around her, but he did it very gently, trying not to brush too much of his plate against her skin in the process.

"Shepard, am I hurting you?"

"No, not at all," she murmured.

"Good."

Her back was turned to him, but somehow she was certain that he hadn't closed his eyes yet, that he was determined to lie there and brood on his embattled relationship with the Hierarchy all night. It occurred to her that it might actually be merciful to get him fall-down drunk or failing that, to pick up a blunt object and knock him unconscious for a couple hours, just to get him to relax, to stop concentrating so damn hard. Of course, he wouldn't be pleased about the headache in the morning and he was likely to be twice as grumpy and morose. She smothered a weary giggle in her pillow and drifted off to a lovely, dreamless sleep, a blissful void where there were no Reapers lurking in the dark.

* * *

The next morning, Shepard assembled the team in the briefing room for a staff meeting. Most of the crew members had already been introduced to Kaidan, but the presence of someone who most of them perceived as a newcomer and outsider still unsettled the usual routines. Even Shepard found it strange to have him back in the room again; in part, for personal reasons, but mostly because he'd probably be reporting every decision she made back to the Alliance. She wondered if he was Anderson's mole or Udina's – or maybe just a snitch for Hackett and the admiralty board.

Having an old flame and a new rep for the Alliance brass in the briefing room wasn't the only source of discomfort. Shepard had made a point of putting on a long-sleeved shirt to cover the wound on her wrist, but the bandage kept making the cloth ride up on her arm. She'd caught a few of her team members staring at it, but especially Kaidan, who was probably wondering how she'd managed to injure herself when they weren't even getting shot at. If he thought she was about to offer an explanation about it, he was wrong. After he walked out on her on Horizon, her sense of obligation to him had melted away.

"I received a tip that Saren owned property on the moon, Auctoritas. That might be a good place to go hunting for evidence," she said.

Miranda folded her arms across her chest, as if to make it clear that she was opposed to the idea from the outset. "Where did you get this information?"

"A source on the Primacy Council."

"A completely disinterested source, I'm sure," Miranda replied.

Kaidan took a cautious scan of the room before he worked up the nerve to address her. "It does seem a bit suspect, Commander. Who's to say that this source isn't purposely trying to steer you in the wrong direction?"

"This person made a point of getting me the extension in the first place. If I'm getting played for a fool, I don't think wasting that extra time is going to be the motivation."

"The Primarchs are respected people," Garrus said. "Definitely ambitious, but for dirty politicians, they're pretty trustworthy."

"That isn't giving me a whole lot of confidence," Jacob muttered.

"It's looking like the best lead we have right now," Shepard said. "But, hey, if somebody wants to toss out a better plan, I'm listening."

At this, Mordin immediately started rattling off ideas. "Could re-assess study of Collector technology. Synthesize data. Compare with information provided by Legion. Possible to prove that geth insufficiently advanced to create Sovereign. Also track galactic economy. Demonstrate inadequate supply of eezo to operate a ship of that size. Perhaps we -"

She cut him off before he could go off on another tangent. "Alright, Mordin. That sounds great. But will they need PhDs to understand the research?"

"Doctorates would be helpful. Failing that, use colourful graphics to simplify complex ideas. Turian psychology hardwired to favour certain colours and patterns. Could create slideshow with mesmerizing effect."

"Um, okay, you go ahead on that. We'll call it Plan B. Any other suggestions?"

"Why are we doing this again?" Jack complained, propping up her dirty boots on top of the table. "Since when do we kiss Alliance ass and pal around with a bunch of scum-sucking politicians? You know they're all just going to knife us in the back."

Grunt gave an appreciative snort. "Yeah, Shepard. What Baldy said."

Baldy was Grunt's nickname for Jack. Shepard was surprised she'd tolerate it, but coming from the krogan, she seemed to take it as a term of endearment. Of course, anybody else who tried repeating it had better watch out.

"I'm not saying we have to trust them. But if we want to give the Reapers what-for, then we're going to need all the help we can get," Shepard answered. "If that means puckering up and kissing a few asses, I'm prepared to do that."

Joker smirked. "Thanks, Commander. Great mental image there."

"So does anyone have anything helpful to say or are we sticking with Auctoritas? Speak now, everybody, or forever hold your peace."

Shepard paused, eyeing the allies assembled around her. It was funny to watch how her teammates dealt with silence. Jack fidgeted with her bootlaces, picking dried mud off the strings. Legion's mechanical body hummed with activity, searching for system updates. Kasumi was huddled down in the back corner and appeared to be painting her nails an electric shade of blue. Kaidan was observing everything, in his usual quiet way, probably planning out his first report to his superiors. His paperwork had always been very...thorough. For a minute, Shepard had expected that Miranda would protest again, but the tactic of asking for viable alternatives seemed to have quieted her down, at least for the time being. Nobody raised any more objections to the original plan.

"Okay, Auctoritas, it is then. EDI, can you provide any information?"

EDI pulled up a map of Auctoritas. "Naturally, Shepard. The moon has been terra-formed to accommodate a number of parks and large dwellings, centered upon the famous Mount Bellona. The property of Saren Arterius is in the area I've highlighted in yellow. You will note the presence of several turian signatures on the scans, as well as a few unknown readings that may reflect non-sentient life forms. This is not entirely inconsistent with known data. Apparently Arterius had quite a collection of pets."

"Never figured Saren for a dog person," Shepard deadpanned.

"He fought varren, actually," Garrus explained. "During my initial investigation on him, I looked into it. Wanted to see if I could prove corruption or at the very least, get him fined for animal cruelty. Didn't really play on the Citadel. People thought his varren were entertaining."

She nodded. "Now that sounds more like the sadistic bastard we all knew and loved. Do you have anything else, EDI?"

"Not at the moment, when we get closer to the planet, I'll hack into local networks and find out more about the Hierarchy's Internal Affairs Bureau."

"What about the agency's extra-net site?" Tali asked. "That shouldn't give us any trouble."

"I can grant you access to some of their less sensitive extra-net files, but their high-priority systems have stronger encryption than I anticipated and it will take some time to bypass their firewalls," EDI replied. "I am surprised by the strength of some of the Bureau's security protocols, Shepard. I was expecting this to be a tedious task, but it seems that I will have some measure of challenge. That is pleasant."

"Hacking gov sites is a cakewalk," Kasumi said. "If I can't burn through their system in five minutes flat, then something's up with these guys."

Garrus shook his head. "The I.A.B. is a high-level Hierarchy intelligence unit. They may be civil servants, but they're civil servants with high-calibre guns, top security clearance and all the best toys. Everything they have is going to be top-of-the-line. But that doesn't mean they're not on the up-and-up."

"Either way, I'm sick of all this chit-chat," Jack said. "Let's get a bloody move-on, boss lady."

"I'm game for that," Shepard said. "Joker, set a course for Auctoritas. EDI, Kasumi, Legion, get going on the extranet sites until we close in on local networks. Crew dismissed."

As the team dispersed from the briefing room, she loaded the map of Auctoritas onto her omni-tool and started examining the locations that EDI had highlighted in yellow. It'd be less than an hour until they'd reach the moon and she wanted to be prepared to move.

She was zooming in on the easternmost section of the estate when she noticed Kaidan hovering around the edge of the table, waiting to address her.

She looked up, raising her eyebrows impatiently. If he was planning to rain on her parade, he might as well get on with it. When they'd been together, all this tentativeness had been cute, kind of bashful and gentlemanly, but now it was just agony.

"Commander, I was wondering if you had a minute."

"I always have time for my crew," she said, not without a touch of sarcasm. "What is it, Alenko?"

Kaidan folded his hands behind his back, very formal, as if he were about to perform in a school recital. "In my role as Alliance adjunct staff, I wanted to advise you that certain members of your team may not be appropriate for this assignment. For diplomatic reasons, if nothing else. I'm sure that's already occurred to you, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't state it again."

"I can choose my own team, thank you. I don't need the Alliance meddling in that."

"You'll have to excuse me, Commander, but the Alliance brass wanted me to make it clear to you that, in light of recent...issues, they feel it would wise to deploy your staff in a manner that aligns with your public relations strategy."

She gave a derisive snort. "What? Can you say that again in English this time?"

"Okay, I'll rephrase that: don't bring people who are going to get the turians mad. I mean, I've seen your staff, Shepard. You've got a lot of loose cannons."

"I like people who aren't too squeamish to get the job done."

"Ouch. I thought we weren't going to get personal here."

He bit his lip, but he didn't allow himself anger. His unflappable demeanour used to bother her, even when they were dating and it should have been a plus. Back then, sometimes she'd play a game of saying impulsive things just to see if he'd react.

"Just my professional assessment, Staff-Commander."

"Alright, well, listen to my professional assessment then," he said. "If you take some of those people out to Auctoritas, you're going to cause yourself a lot of grief."

"I'm not planning to take Legion or Grunt, if that's what you mean. I'm not that stupid. I understand that there are certain aspects of turian culture that need to be respected."

"I'll bet you do." There wasn't any malice in his voice, but that just made the riposte all the more effective. It rankled with her that he could get her flustered, but she'd never really been able to get past that detached, rational veneer he'd perfected after Brain Camp.

She cupped a hand around her ear, squinting slightly as if she were struggling to hear him. "Excuse me? What was that comment you made before about not getting personal?"

Kaiden just switched the subject again. "Listen, Commander, the issue is a lot bigger than just Grunt or Legion, although I have to admit that it's pretty disturbing that you have a functional geth on this ship. I mean, you have an escaped convict on-board, one who is, well, mentally unstable. You have crew members who work for Cerberus."

"Used to work for Cerberus," she corrected. "We all gave our two weeks' notice."

"Are you sure about that?"

"They've risked a lot for this mission. Lawson and I don't always see eye-to-eye, but when it comes down to it, I trust them. They're loyal and that's a lot more than I can say for some people."

"That's fine. But you should know that if you bring them out on this mission, I will have to include it in my report. I'm not lying for you."

She replied in a tone of glacial hauteur, one that sounded false even to her ears. "I wouldn't expect you to. Will that be all, Kai – Staff Commander Alenko?"

Kaidan squinted at her, as if he was trying to bring her back into focus. "No. That isn't all. What's the problem with your arm?"

"I had an accident."

"When you came back to the ship yesterday, your arm was fine."

"Look, I know you're here as an observer, but I think the Alliance is only interested in the mission," she said. "You don't have to go tattling to them every time I get a paper-cut."

"I'm just commenting on what I see, Jill. And from where I stand, it doesn't look good."

With the notable exception of her parents, he was the first one to call her Jill in a long while. It was odd, how she'd stopped liking the sound of her given name. 'Shepard' was a better fit, more solid. It didn't single her out as a man or a woman. It just let her get on with business. Besides, when the right person said it, there was a nice jokey ring to it that made her feel as if she was among friends. 'Jill' - now that was serious and much too intimate, that was her mom telling her to call more often or Kaidan Alenko frowning at her, staring her down as if he wanted her to make a confession.

"What are you implying?"

"Are you sure you did that all on your own?" he asked. "I'm no doctor, but that doesn't seem right to me..."

"It was an accident. If I wanted a medical opinion, I'd go to Mordin or Chakwas. It's not your business."

She stood up, her omni-tool still displaying the holo-map of Auctoritas. As she brushed past him, her arm jostled slightly and the blue lines of the lunar topography intersected with the pale canvas of her face. Striding onto the command deck, she checked in with Kelly and then went up to the cockpit to see how Joker was getting along and watch the approach to the moon. Sitting shotgun beside Joker had the added bonus of keeping Kaidan at bay. Alenko was a sensitive guy, especially for military, and he didn't enjoy the pilot's ribbing, even on the best of the days. He wouldn't dare to lay some earnest speech on her, not when Jeff was around, thinking up ways to turn them into comedic cannon fodder while he stroked a hand over his seven days' growth of beard.

Shepard could discern the craters and trenches of Auctoritas when EDI popped up on the console beside Joker. "Commander, there appears to be a problem on the crew deck."

Joker rubbed his hands together. "Jack and Miranda, the re-match?"

"No, Jeff. Sorry to disappoint you."

He pouted for about half a second and then shrugged it off. "I'll settle for Tali and Legion then. That's entertaining too. Just a lot less potential for bitch-slaps and wardrobe malfunctions."

"You may wish to go down to the gunnery, Shepard," EDI suggested.

Shepard shook her head, well aware of which team members she'd be likely to find down there. "That doesn't sound promising."

She was often tempted to let the crew work personal issues out for themselves, but now that the ship ran without the usual military protocols and restrictions, arguments had a way of getting out-of-line. Besides, she probably should have seen this one coming a few light-years away. It was reckless of her to count on Kaidan's reticence and Garrus' nostalgic idea of 'just like old times' to keep the peace, especially since they were all under a lot of stress. She hurried towards the elevator.

EDI's attempt at subtlety didn't slip by Joker. "Can you hook me up with a live feed? I've got bets riding on this one."

"That would be highly unorthodox, Jeff. You're piloting the ship."

"Never stopped me before. Multi-tasking, EDI. It's all about multi-tasking."


	6. Just Like Old Times

As Shepard approached the gunnery bay, she listened for raised voices or the sound of chairs smashing against the walls in a biotic maelstrom. She didn't hear a peep, not a shout, a whispered threat, a gun firing or a grenade rolling across the floor. That was either a good sign or a very, very bad one. Of course, the gunnery bay door was the thickest and most sound-resistant on the ship. She'd had a few occasions to test this.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the door mechanism and the steel barriers parted before her with a soft wheeze of air pressure.

Kaidan was the one standing closest to her, although his back was turned, his body tense. He was unaware of her entrance or perhaps he was so angry that her presence didn't faze him. "I always knew you had a temper. If you're going to hit someone, hit me. You'll see how far it gets you."

Garrus leaned back against the console, seething with anger. His arms were folded across his chest and Shepard could tell he was making a furious effort not to grant Kaidan's request or, worse yet, put his fist through something expensive and high-tech that would take weeks to repair. His gaze locked on her but she found it impossible to discern if he was relieved to see her or if she was just compounding his discomfort.

She eyed the two of them, hands on hips, feeling uncomfortably like a schoolteacher disciplining unruly students on the playground. "What's going on here? Explanations, now!"

Kaidan spun around, staring at her. Meanwhile, Garrus didn't budge an inch, a slight flare of his mandibles the only indication that he had heard her demand. No explanation was forthcoming from either of them.

She picked on Kaidan because she knew he was the culprit who was most likely to cave under intense scrutiny. Garrus could withstand interrogations for weeks on end before he'd cop to leaving the toilet seat up. "Staff-Commander Alenko, a superior officer is asking you a question. Account for yourself."

"Damn it, Jill, don't give me that," Kaidan said. "I know what's going on and I'm not going to stand for it."

"What's going on? What aren't you going to stand for?"

Kaidan pointed at Garrus. "I'm not to stand by and watch while he hurts you. I'm not made like that."

She gave an incredulous laugh. "That's ridiculous."

When Garrus spoke, it sounded as if there was a rock lodged in his throat. "He asked me if I was the one who hurt your arm. I told him that I did."

"He had the nerve to look me in the face and tell me that," Kaiden said. "As if I was going to just shrug and walk away, like it was no big deal."

"You walked away the last time she needed you," Garrus replied. "Didn't seem too farfetched to me."

"It was an accident, Alenko," Shepard said. "Look, we've all known each other for a while. We're all...old friends. Can't we just be civil about this?"

"An accident, huh? I'm not buying it. Is it going to be an accident the next time, when he breaks your arm or when he -"

"Breaks my arm? Kaiden, we're not back in BAaT! I'm not Rahna. He isn't Vyrnnus."

She finally saw Kaidan get flustered, get more than flustered – he was blinking tears out of his eyes - but it wasn't as gratifying as she thought it would be. In fact, it made her feel really low, like mud scraped off the treads of Jack's combat boots.

Garrus rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoroughly embarrassed. He was better with human displays of emotion than most turians, but Shepard could still see that he really wanted to grab cover on this one.

Kaiden's voice quavered and then levelled out into a pained monotone. "I told you that in confidence. Telling you that...it meant a lot to me. I trusted you. Maybe I shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I wasn't thinking."

Garrus stalked past Kaidan, heading towards the door. Shepard had been expecting him just to storm out, but his shoulder brushed against hers and he paused, panting for breath, trying to compose himself. She could see the tension balling itself up in his armoured body. It was easy to imagine the blades of his upright shoulders jutting against the hard metal, the muscles at the back of his neck knotting together under the strain.

"If you need me, Shepard, I'll be...somewhere else."

He slunk out the door before she could offer a response.

Her stomach lurched inside her, a queasy remorsefulness that made her want to bolt from the room, but her feet were heavy and wouldn't obey.

When she looked back at Kaidan, his face was like something carved from wood, but his eyes were red and raw, his eyelids swollen.

"I don't need rescuing," she told him. "It's a nice idea and I'm sure a lot of women would find it appealing, but it's not me. I can promise you this: if Garrus ever raised a hand to me, I'd knock him on his ass, same as anyone else."

"You sure about that? He's twice your size with claws and fangs, for Christ sakes!"

She couldn't help but smile at this. Men would be men, whether they were huddled around a campfire in fur pelts or hurtling across the galaxy in a state-of-the-art spaceship.

"While you were gone, Alenko, I headbutted a krogan. Don't tell me what I can and can't do."

"What?" He gaped at her for a second, trying to picture it, then shook his head as if to clear the image. "Look, I've heard of a lot of capable women who just blind themselves to the truth. They just go on making excuses, having 'accidents'..."

"Garrus would never intentionally hurt me. It honestly was an accident. I mean, like you said, he has talons and sometimes..."

He waved her off. "I don't want to hear about it. I don't even know how you can bring yourself to do that. It's..." he rummaged through his vocabulary, trying to find a word to express his outrage. "It's wrong."

"I thought you believed that aliens were just like us. Jerks and saints, remember? What's so wrong about that?"

"I was commenting on aliens' personalities. Saying they're okay to talk to is a heck of a lot different than what – what you're doing."

"Where's the big boundary line, Kaidan?"

He didn't answer.

She persisted. "Where's the rule that says I can be friends with an alien, somebody who feels and thinks and bleeds just like we do, but I can't do anything goddamn else?"

"It's a taboo. There's a reason for stuff like that, in terms of morals. In terms of science. I mean, you can't have kids with aliens. Even with asari, you aren't going to get a human, just another asari."

"I don't want kids. Never have."

"There are other reasons too. Seriously, Jill, how do you -? I mean, you can't kiss a turian. They don't even have lips."

She shrugged. "There are other things to do."

He cringed, making a face. "Not what I wanted to know."

"You're the one who asked," she retorted. "I'm not saying it's easy. But maybe I think it's worth it."

He pondered that for a minute, looking disturbed at first and then increasingly, distressed. "Why? I thought that you and I had something. But then we have one disagreement, just one time when I tell you I can't go along with your plans and you throw everything away."

She contemplated a few choice words, mostly ones with four letters. How dare he play the victim, the bloodied martyr of love bravely soldiering on despite her so-called infidelity! If Kaidan planned on throwing himself a pity party, she sure as hell wasn't going to be attending.

"It wasn't just a 'disagreement'! You walked out on me, Kaidan. And then you sent me one measly e-mail telling me how 'maybe' we can work things out 'someday' – when I'm flying into a suicide mission! Those could've been the last words I ever heard from you. I didn't throw anything away, Kaidan. There was nothing left to hang on to."

"Then Ilos meant nothing to you?"

"Don't talk to me about Ilos. Ilos is a good memory. But it's in the past."

He stared at her, his eyes round and sorrowful. "The woman I knew wouldn't say that."

She scoffed at him. If he thought that, then he'd never known her, not even for a minute. What he'd lost was his Alliance recruitment poster ideal, pure and valiant, surrounded by a halo of bright white light, the kind that blurs features and washes out blemishes. That woman on the poster, she would've adored his noble self-denial and the kicked puppy expression that went with it. She would have swooned for his sculpted face, melted-chocolate eyes, that squeaky-clean, aw-shucks demeanour. Shepard - well, she'd found it charming, if a bit syrupy, way back when - but now, it just felt like a product she'd sent away for in the mail, something that'd lived up to all its promises but none of her expectations. She just wanted to wrap his 'love' up in the package again and ship it back to whatever warehouse it came from.

"The woman you knew died two years ago," she said. "Say goodbye and bury her."

She turned away, feeling weary. There was a stale taste in her mouth and she wanted to wash it out with good red wine. If they weren't about to head out on a fact-finding mission, she probably would've treated herself to a drink or two. Or six.

Her retreat seemed to embolden Kaidan or at least, to make him desperate. "Jill, why him? Of everybody, why'd you have to choose somebody I trusted?"

She turned her head, just enough to watch him from the corner of her eye. "Because _I_ trust him. Because he's always had my back. And maybe that means a hell of a lot more to me than having babies or kissing or living up to other people's expectations."

He sighed. "Alright. I hear you."

"Good. Don't go bothering him again. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. He has nothing to do with it."

Kaidan nodded, casting his gaze down to the floor.

She turned away, unable to watch him suffer but unwilling to console him. He only had himself to blame, she thought, but even as she absolved herself with that convenient mantra, one she'd repeated a hundred times since he'd boarded the ship, she knew that part of it was her fault too. She'd respected him, liked him and had once felt a strong attraction to him, but she'd never really loved him, not enough to fight for him, not enough to risk being alone because she'd rather have no one than be with someone who wasn't him. She'd never felt as if he owned her heart and inhabited it. When they'd been together, she hadn't realized the lack, the hollowness she felt when she said the word 'love' to him. It was only now that she knew, having felt the contrast. It really was damn frightening what a stubborn woman could do when she loved somebody who was wrong in most ways, but right in all the ones that mattered.

It didn't take her long to track down Garrus. He was using a console in the med bay to check his extranet email account, something he rarely bothered with even when he wasn't under fire from three merc gangs. When it came to filling out paperwork or dealing with mundane communications, Shepard found that Garrus was one of the worst procrastinators she'd ever met, always ready to pursue action elsewhere or stir some up, if necessary.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Never been better."

"You're a terrible liar."

"That's why I usually don't even attempt it."

"What happened back there?"

Garrus stared at the console screen. "Oh, he came in all friendly at first and I thought 'Hey, this is good. We're alright. Like old times'. Except then he starts asking me questions about my temper."

"I see."

"He starts implying that maybe I have a hard time controlling myself. I ask him what he's referring to and he tells me he doesn't like bullies, especially ones who -"

"Who do what?"

He glanced at her, looking shy, even a bit ashamed. "I don't even want to repeat it. I'm sure you've already got the gist of it."

"I told him he was wrong," she said. "If I know Kaidan, he'll be coming back around in a couple days to apologize."

"And if he does, I'll nod my head and pretend to accept it."

She smirked at his honesty. 'Pretend' was definitely the key word there. Garrus was capable of holding grudges that spanned decades and star systems. He combined this with a very good but very selective memory, one that could easily reel off the names and offences of every sentient who'd ever slighted him and lived to tell the tale, as well as tracking current status and whereabouts. Shepard wouldn't be surprised to learn that he still had raging vendettas and a nemesis (or two) left over from the turian equivalent of kindergarten.

"That's mighty big of you," she replied.

"Look, I hate what Kaidan said. But if our positions were reversed and I thought that he was hurting you, I wouldn't have even given him a chance to deny it. I'd just drop his ass. So really, I guess I'm lucky that he isn't like me."

She actually felt a bit touched. Threatening speedy retribution against her foes was one of Garrus' favourite ways of expressing affection. It took some getting used to - on occasion, she would've preferred the standard flowers and poetry - but it was reassuring to know that if anybody ever had the good luck to gun her down, he'd be there, ready to go full-out justicar on 'em.

"Well, I'm glad that you are like you," she said. "Now cheer up. We've got an investigation to run."

"Yeah, about that..."

"What about it?"

He gritted his teeth together, logging off his extranet account. "I just received a summons for the intervention hearing. It's happening tomorrow afternoon."

"Then we'll get you there. I don't care if we have to park the Normandy on top of the courthouse."

"You should check your messages, Shepard. I'm pretty sure that you're listed as a witness for the complainant."

She choked out a laugh, not because it was funny, but because it was perfectly absurd. "Your dad is calling me as a witness against you? Screw that. I won't show."

"They can put a warrant on you for that."

"I'm a Spectre. They can't arrest me for not making a court appearance."

"No, but they can hold you up with all the bureaucratic bullshit they can muster. And believe me, that's a whole lot of forms to fill out. At least seven days' worth, if you get my drift."

Shepard contemplated this threat, all the papers she'd have to sort and file, all the times she'd have to justify herself and sign along the dotted line. "Wow. Councillor Velarn would love that, wouldn't he? And I hate to see him all smug and happy. Makes my trigger finger itchy."

"Don't worry about it," Garrus said. "Just come and testify to what you know is true. You can't make things any worse than they already are. Besides, it'll be nice to see a friendly face."

"Garrus, if I go into that witness box, I'm going in prepared. I'm not going to let them railroad you. You deserve better than that."

"Yeah, well, the good people on Omega deserved some peace. My squad deserved better than ten unmarked graves. Guess we don't all get our just deserts, do we? By comparison, I don't have too much to complain about."

The cabins rumbled as the ship slowed, preparing to touch down on Auctoritas. The floor shifted under their feet and Shepard grasped Garrus' shoulders to steady herself, almost knocking her forehead against his jaw. He caught her, giving a raspy chuckle.

"Careful now. You're making me nervous. You humans are...more fragile than I expected."

"C'mon, Garrus, I'm not made of glass."

He held onto her, his grip a bit tighter than the ship's turbulence warranted. "No, but you're not made of plate either. And you don't wear armour everywhere."

She wrinkled her nose. Wearing armour all day long looked uncomfortable. She wasn't sure how he and the other turians could stand it. "And why would I do that?"

"Besides it being stylish? Because you could get hurt."

"I guess I'm willing to risk a few scrapes and bruises once in a while."

He sighed, listening as the roar of the ship's engines eased into a gentle thrum, a faint pulse under their feet. "Just...just be careful, I guess. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Why would you say that?"

Slowly releasing her from his grasp, he paused, mulling over her question. "I don't know. I realize it's stupid, Shepard. I mean, you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Hell, you do a better job of it than I do."

"Well, you don't have to worry. After all, this isn't a suicide mission. We're just getting some information. No muss, no fuss."

He gave a sniffly little laugh. "Yeah, sure. I've heard that before. Nothing's ever that simple. Not with you. You watch and see."

"It's true. It's like there's someone out to get me."

"Or multiple someones. Including the Reapers. You just can't help pissing people off," he said.

She pretended to be offended. "Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. I like it. It's one of your best qualities."

* * *

Saren's estate on Auctoritas displayed his very turian sense of grandiosity, the same drive to inspire fear and awe that had driven his people to build a fleet of mighty dreadnoughts to scour the stars and spread their empire to far-off worlds. By Shepard's estimate, the landscaping alone must have cost hundreds of thousands of credits. Marble pillars contrasted with dark rows of imported cypresses. A granite walkway sliced across what must once have been a carefully manicured lawn, still lush, but overgrown and untended. There was a sense of exacting symmetry in every part of the garden's layout and Shepard could imagine Saren pacing the property, looking over the vegetation the way a general might survey a battlefield. If he saw a stray blade of grass, he'd have mown it down. If he'd seen a flower out of place, it was easy to picture him crushing it under his heel. As a foe, he'd been that ruthless, that exacting, in the service of a greater goal and it was easy to detect traces of his estimable personality still lingering in the landscape and in the glowering, grey mansion that stood before them.

"Saren's house," Shepard murmured. "Homey, isn't it?"

"A bit like one of my father's houses," Miranda said. "His Tuscan villa. Never liked the looks of it."

Garrus and Tali just looked confused. Their knowledge of Earth was slight at best. Shepard had shown them a few postcards and a couple pics from the extranet, but this had the unintended effect of leading them to believe that all of the human homeworld looked either like New York City, the Left Bank of Paris, Beijing or Las Vegas. She'd tried to explain that her dad's family was from Edinburgh and her mom had grown up in Texas, but they were content in the illusion that all humans had grown up a stone's throw away from the Eiffel Tower and enjoyed taking long walks along the Great Wall.

A pair of soldiers intercepted them as they approached the mansion's broad double doors. One waved them off with his rifle while another cautiously levelled his pistol at Miranda's head.

This almost raised a smile from the Illusive Man's former girl Friday, since she had her submachine gun at the ready. She cast a withering glance at the pistol. "Mine's bigger."

Shepard snickered, lifting her assault rifle. Garrus reinforced her point by extending the rail of his already formidable Vindicator. From behind them came a loud metallic click, the sound of Tali feeding buck into the double barrels of her shotgun.

"Identify yourselves," the shorter guard said, keeping his pistol steady.

"This is the crew of the Normandy and my name's Commander Shepard. I'm an old acquaintance of Saren's."

The tall guard squinted at her, as he was sizing her up for an imposter. "You're the Spectre? Everybody figured you for dead."

She smiled. "A ghost doesn't carry this much ammo."

"People are so misinformed," Garrus said. "Doesn't anybody watch Citadel Newsnet?"

The first guard frowned, not appreciating the joke. "These grounds have restricted access. What's your business here?"

"I want to talk to whoever runs this place," Shepard said. "Just a friendly chat. Gunfire optional."

"You don't have clearance."

Suddenly, the mansion doors swung open. A turian captain strolled out, attired in an elegant set of light armour, complete with gold epaulettes. He sniffed the morning air, as if about to take his daily constitutional, seemingly unaware of the armed intruders in his midst. Behind him, Shepard spotted a female officer taking notes in her omni-tool ledger and three more guards wielding assault rifles.

The captain halted, regarding the scene laid out before him, his grey eyes glinting with amusement. "Vakarian? Is that you? Why, I hardly recognized you! And, my, but you are keeping strange company these days."

Shepard had to fight the urge to swing around and look at Garrus, which wouldn't have been a good idea, especially if any of the guards got it in their heads to start firing. "You know him?"

"I do," he said. "We go a long way back."

He didn't elaborate any more than that, which left her to wonder if this was a good thing or if this was yet another Palaven surprise, just bidding its time 'til it leapt up and bit her in the ass.


	7. Friends,Family and Packs of Angry Varren

The turian captain gave a full-throated laugh, casting a jovial smile upon all and sundry. Shepard was surprised. The Hierarchy military and its higher-ups had a reputation for discipline and order, whereas this guy seemed to be under the impression he was the lord of Saren's manor, tasked only with hospitality and cheer.

"We go a long way back, you say? You were always a master of understatement, Vakarian," the captain said to Garrus. He turned to Shepard and the other crewmates. "I've known this old devil since the first day of Basic."

"You've come up in the world, Severin," Garrus said. "Last time I checked you were a legionnaire."

"Oh, you know how it is around here. Demotions, promotions. All it means is a fancier uniform," Severin replied. "Now, you, you've been very busy, what with polishing off Saren and his geth. And I take it that this is the famous Commander Shepard? What a privilege!"

"Shepard, this is Captain Junius Severin."

The turian officer pushed past his underlings and thrust a clawed hand at Shepard. She was so taken aback by this unexpectedly friendly gesture that, in reaching out to shake his hand, she nearly lost grip of her rifle.

"A pleasure to meet you!" Severin said heartily. "You must excuse the armed welcome. My staff members are an enthusiastic bunch."

He turned to the guards. "Come on now, everyone. Lower your weapons. We have guests."

"This is creepy, Shepard," Tali murmured. "Nobody is trying to shoot us."

Severin tossed an arm around Garrus' shoulder, slapping him on the back. "Come along now. Walk with us. We're going out to feed the varren. We can talk business along the way. And, of course, Commander, I'm eager to hear what brings you to our little corner of the galaxy."

As they walked westward across the estate, Shepard started in on her request. "Actually, I'm here to see Saren's-"

"Ah, ah – not yet. Let's leave business until later, shall we?" Severin interrupted. "It doesn't do to rush things. First, I want to hear how you're enjoying Palaven."

"I'm not here as tourist, Captain. I'm here as a Spectre."

"Then you haven't seen the Palaven Hills yet? For shame! Vakarian, you have to be a better host than that. Show the people a good time."

"We're on an assignment with a tight deadline," Garrus said. "That doesn't leave a whole lot of time for fun and games."

"I'd hoped that getting off Palaven would loosen you up a little," Severin replied. "But I see that the old man's still got you playing his game. How is the old blighter anyway? Have you been to see him? Well, I can just picture it."

Lowering his voice an octave, Severin let his mouth hang in a limp frown and gave his mandibles a self-righteous shake. It was an uncanny, nearly perfect imitation of Cereus Vakarian. "'Do I smell _intoxicants_ on your breath? In this household, we do not abuse substances or pollute our bodies with filth. You have crossed a boundary. There will be _repercussions_.'"

Severin' face straightened again, his dark blue facial tattoos settling into their usual place. "Oh, but I miss that pompous bastard. I really do. If I had an intoxicant, I'd gladly raise a toast to Cereus Vakarian, the noblest turian of them all."

Shepard thought Garrus would object to this, but Severin didn't seem to want to let anyone get a word in edgewise. "Lieutenant Amerantha, I don't suppose you brought along my brandy?"

Amerantha reached into the bag at her hip and pulled out a flask of brandy. "There you are, sir. I also ordered the groundskeeper to haul out some fresh meat."

"Very good, very good. You are a marvel, a gift from the spirits," Severin said to his second-in-command, unscrewing the cap and taking an appreciative sniff of the brandy.

He raised the bronze flask. "To Cereus Vakarian and his most honourable son. May they live forever or die in glory." Severin tilted his head back, taking a long draught.

"Or how about just the 'live forever' part?" Garrus said, waving the flask away when Severin offered it.

The captain tried to hand it off to Shepard, Miranda and Tali too. "Good for what ails you."

"No thanks," Miranda said, barely bothering to hide her revulsion.

Tali tried to be more diplomatic. She faked a cough. "I would, but I have this terrible cold."

"I'm pretty sure a sip of that will send humans into anaphylactic shock," Shepard said, shaking her head.

Severin gave a sniff of surprise, although this information didn't seem to cause him any genuine concern. "Oh, my. Will it really? That is unfortunate. You must pardon my ignorance. I meet humans so rarely. In any case, it is very good brandy."

He was still drinking that very good brandy as they approached the varren cages, where a turian groundskeeper was standing, holding a large steel bucket. He handed the bucket off to Severin, who immediately started digging around inside it.

Shepard peered into the bucket and saw strips of raw meat, red and bloody. It was impossible to see Tali's expression from behind her helmet, but she was almost positive that her quarian friend was struggling not to gag at the putrid, overripe odour. The turians in the group didn't seem to mind it at all. They were a species of natural predators and they had no problem dealing with blood and guts.

Severin picked up a couple strips of meat and tossed them to the varren. They rushed forward, snarling over the scraps. Looking down the row of cages, Shepard noted that several of the pens were empty.

"Some of the varren seem to be missing."

"Missing? Oh goodness, no," Severin said. "We've just decided to relocate a few. Poor creatures needed a change of scenery."

Miranda cast a suspicious glance at Shepard. "That's very considerate, don't you think?"

"We're here to clean up Saren's mess," Severin answered. "It wouldn't do to see his pets mistreated." His voice softened to a low coo of pleasure. "Now wouldn't it, Harbinger? Nice boy. Yes, that's you."

The captain appeared to be speaking to the albino varren, whose head he was petting through the bars. The ugly creature's tongue lolled out and its pink eyes rolled back in its skull.

Shepard stared at him. "Harbinger?"

"He's my very favourite," Severin confided. "I like Sovereign, too, of course, and Crucible and Dominion and Deathshead but Harbinger, he's something special."

He rubbed the varren's head vigorously, tugging at its ears. "Aren't you, boy? Aren't you special? Yes, you are."

Shepard looked back at the varren, slowly coming to the realization that in all likelihood, she'd just heard the names of three Reapers they'd never heard of. Did Saren purposely name his dogs after Reapers or was the indoctrination so powerful that he didn't even consider the homage? This visit to Saren's house was obviously long overdue.

"Where do those names from?" Garrus asked. "Kind of morbid, aren't they?"

Garrus was trying hard to act casual and friendly, much too hard, in Shepard's opinion. Unbeknownst to him, his rare attempts to be informal often came off as stilted, insincere – heck, sometimes even delightfully sleazy. It probably had something to do with the way he drawled out his words, inserting pauses into peculiar places and stretching out 'r's and 'y's to inconceivable lengths. She got the feeling he must have picked up this speech pattern and his tough guy saunter from a movie somewhere when he was just a kid, probably an action vid his father ordered not to watch, perfecting the technique slowly over a number of years until it was automatic, unthinking.

"They were originally Saren's choices, but I kept them," Severin said. "I like the sound of them. Very...majestic, don't you think? The names of true conquerors entering the ring."

"The fighting ring, right?" Shepard inquired. "These are fighting varren, I take it?"

"Once upon a time, yes. Many of them were champions. Now they're just house-pets, ones that we'll be looking to sell, if you're in the market."

"Are you selling the entire estate?" Miranda asked.

"Not all, but we're disposing of most of it, auctioning some items and requisitioning others. It's my job to ensure that things are done correctly. Without further incident."

Shepard paused. "Further incident?"

"Well, any incident at all!" Severin said. "It's a minor task, one that the Hierarchy has seen fit to allot to a very minor functionary such as myself. It's quite tedious, to be honest, but duty is duty."

Garrus gave a pleasant chuckle that Shepard didn't find quite genuine. "Don't be so modest, Severin. We know you're with the Internal Affairs Bureau. There has to be a lot more than to the job than just taking an inventory of the property. What're your duties here?"

Severin tossed some more meat to the varren, chortling as he watched them contend for the scraps, barking, growling and baring their fearsome teeth. "I hate to disappoint you, old friend, since it's obvious that you're looking for something interesting. However, I'm sorry to say that there's absolutely nothing here that would help you. And quite a few things on the premises that might do intruders some grievous and regrettable harm."

"Why don't you let us be the judge of that?" Shepard said. "Let us look around the mansion and the rest of the estate, maybe take a peek at some of Saren's things. We'll be careful not to get in your way."

"Oh, no, I couldn't let you do that. Saren's mansion is not a place that I would recommend to visitors. Perhaps I should have mentioned this before, but there have been problems."

"Problems?" Shepard echoed. "What sort of problems?" Friend of Garrus' or not, Severin was behaving strangely and even his apparent cheer... unsettled her.

"I don't want to elaborate too much, but there have been some recurrent staffing issues," Severin said. "Better that you don't go in, I think. Maybe once we've finished our work, hmm? Eventually, we're going to convert it into a military academy."

"Whatever the problem is, we can deal with it," Shepard insisted. "It's important that we get a chance to look around. Any data we collect will be reported to the Primarchs and Councillor Velarn, who've authorized me to conduct an investigation."

A varren snapped at Severin's hand through the bars, mistaking it for a piece of meat. The captain swiped at it with his talon, cutting its snout. The creature gave a plaintive whine as blood dribbled down its jaws.

"Bad!" Severin scolded. He wiped the varren's blood from his hand. "That...pitiable creature. It has spirit, certainly, but I believe it could use some obedience training."

"I'll see to it, Captain," Amerantha said. "I know how to make it behave."

"Thank you," he said. "You're a wonderful help."

He looked at his guests again, blinking as if he'd quite forgotten them and was startled to see them still there. "Well, it has been a real pleasure to encounter you again, Vakarian. A real pleasure. And what an honour to meet your charming friends. You must show them the Palaven Hills. I know that they'll be lost in admiration."

Miranda protested. "You haven't answered our -"

"My sincerest apologies, but I must get back to the task at hand," Severin said. "Duty calls and one can't stint duty, no matter how dull! The estate is a bit of a ramble, so I hope you'll do me the honour of allowing my guards to show you out? I appreciate that very much, very much indeed."

If they were tempted to contradict him, the guards and their raised rifles quickly quieted them, herding them back towards the main gates. Officer Amerantha waved goodbye, a smug look in her eyes that annoyed Shepard.

"Well, that was productive," Miranda said when the guards were out of hearing. "The idiot babbled at us for an half an hour and then sent us packing."

Shepard frowned. "I don't think he's an idiot. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Tali looked at Garrus. "Has he always been that...talkative?"

"He wasn't quite that bad when we were back in the unit, but yeah, he does tend to go on about things. And he isn't half as dumb as he'd like you to think he is," Garrus said.

"I take it you have experience with this," Miranda said.

"When we were still military, he was always running these little scams. Nothing dangerous, just stuff that would've upset the higher-ups. I kept trying to shut him down, but he was pretty cunning. I'd dig up evidence but he'd always find a way to keep himself covered."

"So you aren't friends?" Shepard asked.

"In a strange way, we were. He just never held a grudge, you know? And it's hard to stay mad at someone that...cheerful," Garrus said. "I don't know what we are now. He's the same guy...but well, different somehow. I guess that doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

"People aren't obligated to make sense, Garrus," Tali replied. "Anyway it doesn't sound as if he's to be trusted."

Garrus shrugged. "I don't do a whole lot of trusting anyway. Makes things more difficult when the betrayal comes along."

"I can second that," Miranda said. "In any case, I don't care whether he's good, bad or ugly. Captain Severin is an obstacle and he's in our way."

The glint of light on Tali's visor made it appear as if she was wearing a small, secretive smile, although the true expression on her face was impossible to make out. "While he was feeding the varren, I was conducting scans of the security systems. Their security measures are extensive, Shepard, but they're not invulnerable to a little expertise."

"Nice work, Tali," Shepard said. She looked back at the mansion. "We'll be coming back here alright. But first we're going to head over to Palaven, take care of a little business and get ourselves off their radar. When we do return, we're going to do it very, very quietly."

She was already planning out her infiltration team. They had to be good with tech and light on their feet, the kind of people who would knock a guard unconscious before blowing his brains out. That ruled out Jack and Grunt almost immediately. Kasumi was a natural for a job like this and Tali would perform well in this situation too. With his natural hacking skills, it would be helpful to have Legion along, but if they were discovered, Shepard didn't want to get caught with an active geth. That would just make Councillor Velarn's day. It would be best to leave him with EDI as back-up tech support. She figured that Mordin's experience with the STG could be of some use, but his work in the lab was their Plan B and she didn't want him getting distracted. If she needed some additional firepower along, she decided she'd bring Jacob, who knew how to tread lightly, followed orders well and didn't mind a few shortcuts in service to a good cause. He also seemed to enjoy working with Kasumi – probably because she flirted with him every chance she got. By the time they arrived back on the Normandy, Shepard knew who was going to be on the team and who most definitely wasn't.

The problem, of course, would be telling Garrus that he had to stay on the ship, especially since business had gotten personal for him. She hoped he'd listen to reason. With his intervention hearing in process, his status with the Hierarchy was already questionable. If he were to be caught breaking into an Internal Affairs restricted zone, there could be a treason charge in his future. It was inconvenient because he would have been good for an assignment like this, one that required focus and precision, and his knowledge of turian military protocols would have been invaluable. Still, she wasn't going to risk it. He could stay back on the Normandy with EDI and Joker and feed her info over the radios.

Back at the ship, she updated Joker on the new travel plans. He didn't seem pleased at having to backtrack.

"You mean we've gotta go all the way back to Palaven just so Garrus can resolve his daddy issues?"

"Yep."

"That's a waste of time. And fuel."

"No, it isn't."

"But hey, sure, let's go play therapist for everyone on the crew," Joker griped. "We can find Jack's inner child, help Jacob to stop being such a doormat and figure out why Miranda can only feel good about herself if she wears tight, tight, sexy clothes. Not that I'm complaining."

"While we're at it, maybe we can discover why you use humour as a defence mechanism."

Joker rolled his eyes. "Probably because my parents never bought me a pony."

"We're going back to Palaven tomorrow for Garrus' hearing. Might as well get your head around it, Joker."

He heaved a put-upon sigh. "Yeah, yeah, you're the boss. You sign the paychecks. I got it."

* * *

Garrus' intervention hearing was scheduled in a courthouse just outside the capital, resting in the shadow of the Palaven Hills. After all of Captain Severin's exhortations, Shepard finally had a chance to see the famous tourist attraction. The hills were plumed with tropical trees and from where Shepard stood, she could spot the rows of ancient aqueducts that still funnelled water down to the poorer districts of the city. It was definitely scenic, but she didn't think it stacked up to the pristine beauty of the Presidium or the elegant violet silhouette of the Illium skyline at dusk. Of course, she was probably just jaded. She'd been travelling the galaxy, seeing different colonies and outposts since she was a kid and it was hard to feel a sense of wonder anymore, at least not when it came to architecture or landscape. Other cultures and people, however, never stopped surprising her, for better or for worse. Today, in court, she was hoping that they'd have a good surprise.

It was nearly noon and Palaven was already boiling hot, a situation made worse by the fact that she had to wear protective armour to shield her body from high levels of radiation. She and Tali clunked along sluggishly behind Garrus, looking like a matched pair in their exo-suits. Shepard was pretty sure she saw a couple of turians snickering at them, but maybe the heat was making her paranoid in addition to the obvious ill effects of dizziness and dehydration.

"For once, I'm not the only one stuck in a suit," Tali said.

Shepard laughed, which took a surprising amount of energy in the heat. "We're twins."

"Except you're taller," Tali replied. "And you have funny human feet."

Garrus didn't join in their conversation. He'd been standoffish all day, pacing anxiously around the ship and now striding grim-faced through the Palaven forums. There was something so determined and forceful in his gait that several passers-by scurried out of his way, clearing a path for him amidst the frenzied crowd of shoppers and office-workers on lunch-hour.

"Garrus, are you okay?" Tali asked. "You're very...intense today. More so than usual."

"I'm fine," he said. "Just don't want to be fashionably late."

Tali looked at Shepard inquiringly.

Shepard just shrugged her shoulders. She'd already tried to calm Garrus down but talking to him when he was this agitated was like pulling teeth...from an angry vorcha. After stepping in front of his scope to talk him out of assassinating Sidonis, Shepard had learned that when Garrus got himself really worked up, it was best just to leave him alone and let him simmer down. His common-sense would always kick in a few hours later, after the urge to shoot something had passed, and then he would be rational about things, just as patient, soft-spoken and reliable as he ever was.

Still, his bouts of silent fury made her anxious for him. It felt so unlike the person he was the rest of the time. The anger seemed to pound fists against his ribs, to strangle his voice, to make him pant and gasp in pain. It was as if there were two personalities contending inside him – one, a reticent but relatively well-adjusted guy with a dry sense of humour and an inordinate fondness for Tupari sports drink, and the other, a secretive, brooding avenger with an insatiable desire for justice, who exacted merciless punishments upon not only criminals and thugs, but also upon himself. She found it agonizing to watch his self-imposed torment, but it seemed there was little she could do, aside from being there to support him whenever he chose to let her in.

Tali didn't seem ready to drop the matter. Although she'd matured leaps and bounds in the past few years, she still occasionally seemed to enjoy playing the role of precocious kid sister, if only because it gave her the freedom to say things nobody else would be able to get away with. "You don't seem fine to me. Are you worried about what your father is going to say?"

"No," Garrus snapped. He paused, softening his tone, and reconsidered his answer. "Well, okay, yes. But it doesn't matter. Nothing he says matters."

"Of course it matters. He's your father," Tali said. "Anyway, we'll be there in the courtroom with you. You don't have to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous. I'm fine," he replied. "But thank you."

"No problem, Garrus," she said. "You were there for my treason trial. I'm happy to be here for yours."

Garrus gave her a quizzical look.

Tali realized her mistake. "Well, I'm not happy that there is a trial. But I'm happy that I can be here. For you. Because we're friends. And even if you make fun of me sometimes, I like having you around."

She seemed to get a little flustered at this admission. "Keelah, I wonder if Shepard is going to give a big speech again and yell some sense into people. That would be fun to watch."

Shepard smiled. "Not likely. Folks here don't seem to respond well to humans ranting at them. Probably best to play nice."

"Play it however you like," Garrus said. "In the end, what they decide today doesn't make any damn difference. I'm with you and I'm on the Normandy, no matter what. I'm sticking with this to the end."

She sighed. "That sounds ominous. How about some optimism here? We still have a shot."

"A long shot," he specified. "Taken with a bad rifle and a broken scope. But yeah, I guess it's a shot."

Shepard spotted Cereus Vakarian standing on the courthouse steps, leaning heavily on his cane while he spoke with a couple of young turian officers, who appeared to be admirers of his work. He abandoned his fans as soon as he saw his son approaching and hobbled down the stairs, giving a slight wince when he put too much weight on his bad leg. The old turian positioned himself on the step directly above them, probably well aware that Garrus planned to avoid him with all his might.

Tali glanced between father and son, tilting her head to give Shepard what could only be described as a wry look, despite the visor blocking her face. She was obviously noting the family resemblance, which was even more marked now that Garrus and Cereus were staring each other down.

"Hello Garrus."

"Hello...Father." Garrus intoned the word 'father' as if it were a threat.

Cereus frowned. "I trust that you've been well."

"I'll be a lot better when this is over."

"You don't have to go through with this," Shepard interceded. "I'm sure there's another way..."

"I regret having to air family disputes in a public venue," Cereus answered. "However, I will do what is necessary to ensure the well-being of my son, Commander Shepard."

"Don't bother trying to reason with him. I've been trying to do it my whole life. It doesn't work," Garrus said.

Dodging around his father, he mounted the courthouse stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Tali and Shepard stood there awkwardly a moment, staring into Cereus' grizzled grey face, before they started to follow Garrus up the stairs.

Shepard wanted to say something to the old turian to fix this ugly mess, but she knew that was something only he and Garrus could manage. If they were to reconcile, it would take time and patience, since both Officer Vakarian the Elder and Officer Vakarian the Younger shared the same relentless determination, accompanied by an almost monumental stubbornness.

Cereus spoke up just as Shepard turned away. "Remind him that I'm his father, not his friend. Tell him that it isn't my job to make him like me, but I will have his respect."

She turned slightly, showing him the clean, cold line of her profile. "I don't want to stand between the two of you. It isn't fun getting caught in the crossfire. If there's something you want to say to Garrus, you should go talk to him yourself."

Cereus didn't offer a reply. He just nodded his head, acknowledging her refusal, and began to tread up the stairs. He dragged his hulking body along with an intractable slowness that made Shepard think of a receding glacier carving trenches into rock, marking years, decades, eras in notched cliffs, fractured stone and widening canyons.

Tali tapped her on the shoulder. "We should head upstairs, Shepard. Let's try to keep Garrus from blowing a gasket."

They hurried up into the courthouse, passing under the regal blue and gold flag of Palaven. Inside, the building had lofty ceilings to match the high-vaunted turian ideals of "DUTY – DISCIPLINE – HONOUR TRIUMPHANT," the motto that was emblazoned in gold letters above each courtroom, written in Pallas, the 'purest' form of the turian language. Of course, Shepard had to scan the words with her omni-tool to figure that one out. Otherwise, it all just looked like ornate gibberish to her human eyes.

Shepard stopped to peel off her helmet and the more uncomfortable elements of her armour. Removing the extra gear was a relief in the stifling heat.

She'd made a point of dressing in her most conservative clothes, avoiding the snug, body-conscious attire she generally favoured. When the magistrate called her up into the witness-stand, she didn't want to look like a depraved human hussy who got her kicks preying on and corrupting impressionable young turian males, which seemed to be the angle Cereus was intent on playing. Hell, maybe there was even a teensy bit of truth to it. She'd definitely enjoyed seducing Garrus and part of the fun had come from the fact that it was forbidden, shocking, even to the both of them. Still, she'd never anticipated that she'd ever have to justify her romantic inclinations in public, especially not in a turian courtroom. That was a whole new level of weird and awkward.

"Turians sure like to construct big, wasteful, impressive-looking buildings," Tali said, craning her head back to stare at the ceiling. "All this space to walk around in...it's no wonder people here never learn how to talk to each other."

"They certainly learn how to boss each other around," Shepard replied.

Garrus met them outside the door of the last courtroom on the right. "This is the place," he said. "Are you ready for this, Shepard?"

"Don't worry about me. What's important is that you're ready."

He looked doubtful. "As ready as I'll ever be."

They pushed through the door into the small, packed courtroom, where the magistrate was sentencing a pair of hapless turian defendants.

"I find the primary defendant, Corporal Uriel Salim culpable for dereliction of duty. Corporal Salim is demoted to the rank of Private and will pay 5,000 credits in restitution to the state. His superior officer, secondary defendant Major Brikan, is demoted to the rank of Corporal for his error in judgement. Dismissed!"

"Grrreat," Garrus muttered. "We got the hanging judge."

They found seats at the end of the last row of wooden benches, wedging themselves in beside a fidgety salarian who appeared to be sweating profusely. Shepard had never gotten a whiff of salarian body odour before and it was an experience she would've preferred to pass on. Luckily, it wasn't quite as rank as the human variety or the particularly vile stink that emanated from Grunt when he'd gone too long without one of his enforced baths. The salarian version just smelled a lot like pond scum.

The Palaven heat was uncomfortable anywhere one went, but it was particularly oppressive in the crowded courtroom. The air was heavy and hard to breathe. Tali shifted uncomfortably against Shepard, wriggling around in her exo-suit. While the other species suffered in the hot climate, the turians seemed perfectly at ease. In fact, they appeared to embrace the suffocating warmth, to bask in it.

Shepard heard the sound of Cereus' metal cane thumping against the floor tiles as he made his way down the aisle. It wouldn't be long now. According to the summons, Garrus' hearing was next up on the docket.


	8. Trial and Tribulations

The presiding magistrate rose from his seat, a silver dagger in his hand.

"By the Spirit of Justice and the Unbroken Sword, I summon Officer Cereus Vakarian, the complainant, to present the case against his son, Garrus Vakarian," the magistrate proclaimed. "The charges are dereliction of duty and neglect of filial obligation."

Cereus limped over to the magistrate's bench, reverently taking up the dagger.

Tali's whisper tickled against the hollow of Shepard's ear. "He's not going to cut Garrus with that thing, will he?"

"I hope not," Shepard replied.

Luckily, the weapon seemed to be purely symbolic. She couldn't picture Garrus submitting to any sort of impromptu blood-letting, not even for the sake of justice. Maybe he'd do it for the cause of vengeance, but in that case, the blood he'd be spilling would invariably belong to his enemies.

Holding the dagger aloft, Cereus invoked the Spirit of Justice and elaborated on the nature of Garrus' misdeeds.

"My son has allowed an inappropriate relationship with a female human, Commander Jillian Shepard, to interfere with his responsibilities as a C-Sec officer and as a citizen of the Hierarchy. Under the influence of Commander Shepard, my son quit his proper work on the Citadel, engaging in increasingly reckless and self-destructive behaviour, including vigilantism. When I pointed out that his attachment to this...person was unhealthy and anti-social, he informed me that he would not respect my authority as his father. Furthermore, he said he would refuse to comply with any order issued to return to either Citadel Security or his previous position in the Fleet."

When he'd finished this recitation, Cereus plunged the dagger into the surface of the magistrate's bench, an action that startled Shepard, although none of the turian onlookers seemed to find it the least bit extraordinary. So far, she thought the rituals of the Hierarchy's judiciary were oddly violent and had to wonder if it was a good idea to have knives lying around in a place where emotions could so high. Of course, human courts had gavels, which could make for decent murder weapons, but she figured it would take at least a couple of good, determined swings to polish somebody off with one of those.

"I call the defendant, Garrus Vakarian, to answer these charges, speaking only truth, in preservation of his honour and his rank of citizen, third-tier," the magistrate declared.

Taking a deep breath, Garrus strode up to the front of the courtroom. When he turned to confront his father, his eyes caught the light, glinting like shards of glass.

"I quit C-Sec because I wanted to make a difference. Working with Commander Shepard taught me a lot and I'm doing something now that'll save innocent lives. If that isn't my duty as a turian, then I don't know what is."

Garrus had to sit and watch from the defendant's table, while Cereus called up his first witness, none other than the retired Executor Pallin.

The old executor appeared via holo up-link, looking much altered from the last time Shepard had seen him. He wore a blue eye-patch over the socket of his left eye and his face had been badly burned during the Battle of the Citadel, melting and discolouring his distinctive tribal markings. The white paint that had formed a mask over his cheeks and forehead was now a scabby brown mottled with blue. Like Garrus, Pallin's features had been reconstructed with cybernetics, although the work he'd received appeared less sophisticated than what the Normandy staff had managed. His mouth was mangled, twisting back to reveal needle-like teeth.

Yet, despite his damaged face, Pallin was still the venerable icon of Citadel justice that he'd always been and it touched Shepard to see him again, a part of the Presidium's old glory salvaged from the devastation. When he spoke, it became obvious that there'd been damage to his larynx, enough to require the use of a computerized voice-box. His new virtual voice had been configured to sound similar to his old one, a resonant baritone, but it had a metallic edge to it and the words came out in a dull monotone which she found strangely affecting.

"I was Garrus' commanding officer at C-Sec for six years," Pallin said. "I recruited him to the unit to patrol the Presidium grounds, a standard placement for rookies. Once he'd learned the ropes, I assigned him to track and investigate gang activities in the Lower Wards."

"How would you describe Garrus' job performance prior to his first encounter with Commander Shepard?" Cereus asked.

Pallin folded his hands together in his lap and leaned back in his easy chair. "He was an investigator of some promise, sharp and very decisive in action, although his paperwork could be sloppy and he was known to cut corners to nab suspects. He was a firebrand and I was wary of his impulsiveness, but I felt that, if he could be reined in, he would be an excellent member of the force. At the time, I was confident that his behaviour was a result of his youth and inexperience rather than any irresolvable failings in character."

"Would you please explain the circumstances of Garrus' first meeting with Commander Jillian Shepard and his subsequent conduct?" Cereus asked.

Here it comes, Shepard thought, bracing herself. She'd steeled her nerves for a day of denunciations, but she hadn't anticipated how terrible it would feel to sit silently and let virtual strangers speculate on her relationship with Garrus.

"Upon orders from the Council, I assigned Garrus to look into the treason accusations made against Saren Arterius," Pallin answered. "It was a politically -sensitive investigation and I was observing him to see how he'd handle the responsibility. When the trail he was following went cold, I told him to stop making inquiries. We disagreed, as we often did, but on this occasion, he'd found an ally in Commander Shepard, who was also interested in taking down Saren. Garrus became belligerent, informing me that he planned to go to Shepard and get her to recruit him to pursue the rogue Spectre. I suspected that he was fascinated with her and that his interest was not entirely wholesome."

Not entirely wholesome? Shepard wanted to laugh, but she knew cackling in the back of the courtroom wasn't going to help her case. Still, Pallin's choice of words was ridiculous. A piece of cake was 'not entirely wholesome'. Scarfing down bacon and eating butter as a side-dish was 'not entirely wholesome'. Having an illicit inter-species love affair that maddened parents, vexed diplomats and sent the entire Citadel press corps into a tizzy – that had to rate as 'indecent', 'scandalous' or 'deplorable' at the very least. If Pallin was going to call her an unscrupulous femme fatale or imply that she'd exerted some weird hypnotic power over Garrus from the very beginning, before leading him off to fight Saren in a lust-inspired trance, she wished he'd just say it outright. She'd always respected him for being a straight-shooter and it disappointed her that he couldn't speak plainly and skip the prim, euphemistic bullshit that seemed to pass for propriety around here.

Cereus took the bait. "Can you explain on what you mean when you refer to an unwholesome fascination?"

"Garrus treated this human Shepard with an exaggerated deference, even worshipfulness. To be frank, as a proud turian, I found his little infatuation embarrassing," Palin said. "He also seemed to admire the fact that as a newly appointed Spectre, she could set her own agendas and work outside the law. This disturbed me."

Cereus thanked Pallin for his testimony and then introduced his next witness, none other than the current head of C-Sec, Executor Chellick. Like Pallin, Chellick testified over a comm transmission. Based on the sizable desk he was resting his elbows on, Shepard could tell that the holo-feed came from his office at the Citadel. The connection was fuzzy, shimmering with static, and sometimes Chellick's mouth appeared to move more slowly than the words coming out of it, which prompted some sniffly giggles from Tali.

"How did you know my son at C-Sec?" Cereus inquired.

"I was his senior colleague for six years before being promoted to Executor," Chellick replied.

"When Garrus returned to C-Sec after the death of Saren did you notice a change in his conduct?"

Shepard hunched forward, resting her arms on her thighs, eagerly awaiting Chellick's answer. She'd never managed to extract a full explanation of why Garrus' return to C-Sec hadn't worked out for him, when he'd assured her that he was dedicated to going back and enforcing the peace. It was one of those mysterious histories that Garrus was so good at eliding, sweeping the inconvenient parts of his past out of sight.

"For a couple months, Garrus threw himself into work and showed real commitment," Chellick replied. "I was happy to have him back on the team. He was a hero and we'd lost a lot of our experienced officers in the geth attack. The first clue I got that something was wrong with him was the way he'd talk about that commander and her crew. He seemed a bit too attached and he was always carping on about how Commander Shepard did things and how when she was around, things were so different. I regret it now, but I wrote it off as just a quirk. After all, she was a hero, she'd saved the Council and for a while, lots of people were acting like she was the best thing since sliced Burgat."

Cereus gave a disdainful snort, obviously unimpressed at the notion of celebrity, although Shepard had noticed that he seemed rather fond of his own reputation. In any case, if people thought Garrus was an avid admirer of her work, she would've loved to introduce them to Conrad Verner and his N7 replica armour.

"Can you describe the incident that led to my son leaving C-Sec for a second time?" Cereus asked.

Chellick blinked, looking momentarily at a loss, but his bright green eyes soon recovered their usual shrewdness. "Yes. Of course. I had Garrus working in his old stomping grounds, the Lower Wards, which had been hard hit during the attacks. He was there to keep the peace, to make sure the survivors had food and water and weren't killing each other. It was a hard gig, I'll admit that, but that was the recovery process. Anyway, one day, I guess he got some news about this ship – the Nermandy? The Norminday?"

"The Normandy," Garrus corrected. "It was destroyed during a mission against the geth."

Shepard cringed, wishing Garrus would've just let it Chellick mispronounce the name. Cereus was intent on making his son look fanatical and Garrus was playing right into his father's hands.

Chellick's eyes narrowed with annoyance. "Alright, sure, the Normandy. Anyway, Garrus heard that the ship was blown up and that Shepard got herself spaced. He was upset about it, but he stayed in the Wards, because there was nobody to cover for him. Well, as it turns out, it was a bad day down there. Some looters went for this apartment where they figured they'd find salvage, but really there was just this old salarian holing up inside. Garrus got wind of what was brewing and rushed down there without calling for back-up, which was against protocol."

He paused, taking a breath, as if overwhelmed by details. Shepard found the wait unbearable. She just wanted him to spit it out.

"By the time Garrus showed up," Chellick continued, "the looters had nearly beaten the old guy to death and were ransacking through his stuff. I don't know what happened after that - just that there was an altercation. Garrus took out one of the looters with a single shot to the head. He arrested the others. Two of them had been pistol-whipped and another one had four broken ribs. The official report says that Officer Vakarian used lethal force to defend himself from violent felons. I wouldn't presume to question that. But I do know that he wasn't in the right frame of mind to be out there. He wouldn't have taken the course of action he did if he'd been thinking clearly."

Shepard didn't realize how hard she was biting her lower lip until she tasted her own blood. It made her feel sick and panicky, almost nauseous, and she wondered if the heat was getting to her, if she might pass out right then and there. Why hadn't Garrus told her what he'd done? Did he believe she wanted him to mourn her by taking down every crime lord, gangster or two-bit hood that crossed his path, until one of them got smart or got lucky and killed him too?

If she'd arrived on Omega just a day later, he might have gotten his wish. It was all too easy to envision what she'd have found amidst the wreckage of that base. It would've shattered her to pry the helmet off Archangel's head and see Garrus' glazed eyes staring up at her, still ardent, still watchful, but blind to her face, never knowing that she'd returned for him. Shepard shielded her head in her hands, trying to keep ugly imaginings from swarming her.

A small hand stroked her back, a gentle rhythmic motion she remembered from when she was a child and her mother used to brush her hair. When she looked up, she found Tali watching her with evident concern.

"Thanks, Tali," Shepard murmured, patting her friend's shoulder.

"It'll work out," she said softly. "I know it will."

Cereus continued with his line of questioning. "So what happened after this incident with the looters?"

"I asked Garrus to account for his actions and told him that I thought it would be best if he took a leave of absence. It was obvious that the job was getting to him. He was getting morbid. Obsessive. He told me he didn't need time-off. He said he was quitting and that I wouldn't be seeing him again. He turned in his badge and walked out the door. That was the last I saw or heard of him until the news reports came out on the Citadel, saying that he was back with Commander Shepard, who'd mysteriously been resurrected, and that they'd been doing some top-secret Spectre mission."

"What else did the news reports say?"

"Oh, scandal sheet nonsense about how he and Shepard were getting intimate behind the scenes. That didn't surprise me too much. I had a sense that those two were a little too friendly, if you get my meaning," Chellick said. "There were also some hints that Shepard was involved with a human terrorist organization called Cerberus and that Garrus had gotten himself tangled up in it too. I found that a lot harder to believe. Whatever else he is, Garrus isn't stupid and a turian joining up with Cerberus is a hundred different kinds of dumb."

Cereus gave a low growl, one that sounded more pensive than threatening. "Do you think it's possible that Shepard encouraged Garrus to align himself with Cerberus to further her own agenda?"

"When I worked with Shepard, she seemed like a reasonable person. Not a bad sort. But looking at the circumstances, I'd say that it's more than likely that she talked Garrus into it. The only reason I can see him getting onboard with a bunch of crazies like those is if Shepard told him to. He'd go along with pretty much anything she said."

The old turian pushed a little further. "In light of this, do you think it's reasonable for a father to want to remove his son from her corruptive influence?"

"Look, I have kids and I'll say it straight out: if one of them got mixed up with somebody like Shepard, I wouldn't be happy about it," Chellick said. "I don't think she's evil. That's not the impression I had when I met her and my instincts are good. She's just a Spectre and that's a lot of power for one person to be carrying around. Too much power and not enough restrictions - well, that's a recipe for disaster, if you ask me. It would bring out the worst in the best of people."

Cereus nodded, appearing to be satisfied with this answer. "Could you explain to the court who Lantar Sidonis is and what caused him to turn himself into C-Sec headquarters earlier this year?"

"Okay, I'm just going on what I've gleaned from the file here," Chellick said.

"In citizenship trials, hearsay is admissible," the magistrate assured him.

Chellick shrugged. "Well, according to the investigating officers, Lantar Sidonis was a former mercenary who came to them and insisted that he should be prosecuted for the murders of 10 people on Omega. He claimed to be involved in a vigilante organization and said that he'd betrayed his squad to the Blue Suns, who were out for blood. The guy kept begging our people to toss him in jail, but he was out of luck. We can't prosecute crimes outside our jurisdiction. My officers told him that if he wanted punishment for something he did in a lawless backwater, well, he was going to have to work that one out for himself."

"How did the investigating officers link Lantar Sidonis to my son?"

"We arrested this human named Roscoe Harkin, alias 'Fade', for forgery, data theft, human smuggling, aiding and abetting – you name it, this guy was involved in it somehow. Basically just a real grade-A scumbag. He used to be C-Sec, I'm sorry to say, but he'd gone dirty and I made good and sure that he was kicked off the force. Anyway, somebody did us the favour of beating him senseless and leaving him pretty much gift-wrapped for my guys to pick up. Just as soon as we got Harkin, he started trying to bargain with us, looking to strike up a deal in exchange for info. He told one of my officers that Garrus Vakarian was back on the Citadel and trying to murder Sidonis for a betrayal on Omega, something to do with the deaths of a vigilante squad. After that, we put two and two together."

"Would you inform the court of the fate of Lantar Sidonis?"

"Two of my officers in Zakera Ward were sent down to check out an apartment that, uh, was causing complaints from the neighbours. Loud music, bad smell, the standard stuff. They recovered the Sidonis' body from inside the premises, hanged from a door beam. The coroner ruled suicide. There were no signs of foul play."

"Thank you for your testimony, Executor Chellick."

"Pleased to be of assistance." Chellick gave a final nod and Cereus severed the comm.. transmission.

"I'd like to call a final witness," Cereus proclaimed. "Will Commander Jillian Shepard please rise to the stand?"

A tremor of excitement surged through the courtroom. Shepard felt strangers' eyes searing into her, as she walked to the wooden box beside the magistrate's bench.

"Commander Shepard, as you are not a citizen of the Turian Hierarchy, we will require you to swear an oath of honour," the magistrate informed her. "Any falsehoods spoken as a witness in this court will be a violation of your oath. Breaking this oath is a serious criminal offense that will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Will you vow to respect the sanctity of this civil court and the spirit of its work, which is to enforce social order and maintain the high standards of citizenship?"

"I will," she said, reluctantly.

"Permission to treat the human witness as hostile?" Cereus asked the magistrate.

"Granted."

Shepard had trouble suppressing a smirk at that piece of Hierarchy judicial procedure. Cereus had treated her as 'hostile' from the minute they'd met – she'd just been stupid enough to think that a bottle of expensive wine, a few ingratiating smiles and her evident affection for his son would be enough to win him over. She'd been wrong on all counts. Now, she had a funny feeling she was about to get a taste of the Vakarian interrogation technique, which she'd already seen up-close during her investigations with Garrus. Of course, while Cereus might fix her with a penetrating stare and try to rattle her cage a bit, she doubted that he'd lunge across the stand and throttle her or pretend he was going to snap her neck under his boot, as Garrus had done to a few of their mutual acquaintances.

"Commander Shepard, when you met my son, were you aware that he was under orders to stop his investigation into Saren Arterius?"

"I knew that his supervising officer didn't approve, but I also knew that Saren posed a bigger threat than Executor Pallin or the Council realized."

Cereus' mandibles twitched, his pupils contracting into dark slits. "So you were aware then that encouraging Garrus to continue in his investigation was against the orders of the ranking C-Sec officer and you were sanctioning insubordination?"

"Yes, but it was important to -"

"A simple yes or no will suffice, Commander," Cereus said. He tapped his cane on the floor, as if to emphasize his point. "Tell me, when you were working with Garrus on your first mission against Saren, did he show signs of impulsiveness or recklessness?"

"Garrus cares about seeing justice done," she said, giving him a defiant look. "He was eager to stop Saren and to prevent the Reapers from taking over the galaxy. That's courage and heroism, two things the Hierarchy should reward in its citizens."

Cereus shook his head. "Yes or no, Commander, did Garrus express a disregard for standard procedures?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"As a commanding officer, did you reprimand him? Suspend him?"

"I tried to show him that it's preferable to work within the system. The rules are usually there for a good reason and breaking them can wind up causing you trouble in the end."

Cereus paused, considering this. "Tell me, Commander Shepard, would you break a rule if it would make your job easier and you knew that it wouldn't come back to haunt you in the future?"

"That question is way too abstract and hypothetical for a soldier like me," she said, trying to mask an impudent answer behind a chuckle. "I'm no moral philosopher. I'm a Spectre. I do my best to resolve conflicts in a responsible way and to find solutions that will be good for the galactic community. Sometimes I have hard choices to make. As a veteran of C-Sec and the turian military, I'm sure you get that."

"So, if I understand you, Commander, you kept Garrus in active field duty despite his personal issues and did nothing to rectify his behaviour beyond exerting your questionable 'influence'. Did it occur to you that this might compromise the mission?"

"Garrus followed my orders. I've never had any cause to question his loyalty to the mission."

"Perhaps I should be more specific. Has it occurred to you that using Garrus for missions when he betrayed signs of emotional instability might pose a danger, either to my son or to others?"

She hesitated, wondering how she could talk her way around the question without actually having to lie. "I have faith in Garrus as a soldier, as an ally and as one of my closest friends. He's done a lot of good work for the benefit of others and he's never let me down. I rely on him and he stands up under pressure. I think that's more than any commanding officer could ask for."

"Are you a member of Cerberus, Commander?"

"No."

"Yet you own a ship with registry data tracing back to a known Cerberus front and a week ago, Westerlund News reported that you were affiliated with the Illusive Man himself."

"Westerlund News is a tabloid," she said. "In that same issue, they speculated that Councillor Velarn takes bribes and accused the Consort Shaiira of getting biotic breast implants. I wouldn't call them a reputable source."

Of course, she had enjoyed reading the Councillor Velarn story. And the plastic surgeon had made a convincing case about Shaiira's renovated chest – those things were way too perky to have hit the matron stage.

"In the article, they also stated that you and my son have been exchanging in sexual conduct that many sentients would consider deviant and morally abhorrent," Cereus said. "Did they make a mistake on that as well?"

She looked to Garrus for some indication of how he wanted her to answer. He gave her a slight nod, although she could tell from the way that he was clenching his jaw and raking his talons against the edge of his seat that he was getting agitated.

"When the Westerlund News doesn't tell outright lies, they sensationalize their stories," she said. "It's true that Garrus and I are involved. I care about him a lot. That may seem unconventional to some people, but it isn't illegal."

"But it is damaging to both of you and your standing in the community, is not?"

"I can't speak for Garrus, but I know that I'd be a lot more damaged without him in my life. My relationship with him has not impeded my mission to stop the Reapers."

Cereus gave a snide chuckle. "And so we come to the 'Reapers'. What are they, Shepard?"

"Why don't you ask the Protheans?" she shot back.

"I don't appreciate evasions."

"I'm not being evasive. The Reapers are an advanced machine race who killed the Protheans. They also masterminded the attack on the Citadel and would like nothing better than to massacre every sentient in the galaxy. Is that enough of an explanation for you?"

"Indeed. And have you informed the Council of this threat?"

"I have."

"Did they heed this wild conspiracy theory?"

"Councillor Velarn and the Primacy Council have authorized me and my crew to conduct an investigation."

"Yes or no, please," Cereus chided her. "Did the Citadel Council believe you and offer their support?"

"No," she said. "But that doesn't mean that I'm wrong."

"It doesn't mean you're right either. And it doesn't justify using my son to further your delusions of glory."

"I didn't hear a question in there," she retorted. "If you're accusing me of manipulating Garrus, then you're sadly mistaken. He's with me because he wants to stop the Reapers before they destroy the Council, the Hierarchy and everyone sitting in this courtroom."

"But you would say that, Commander. You want to keep my son on your ship and what better way to do that than to lure him in with a fictional crusade. Now he can play vigilante all over the galaxy and you can exploit him for your own unsavoury ends."

Garrus cut in. "I make my own choices. If you don't like them, lay the blame on me. But you leave her out of it."

"You will control yourself or you will be removed from this courtroom," the magistrate warned him.

Cereus shook his head sorrowfully. "I apologize for my son. As you can see, he lacks discipline."

"Well, he doesn't lack responsibility. Or the ability to make his own decisions," Shepard said.

The old turian cast a weary glance at her and turned away, limping towards the magistrate's bench. "I'm finished with this witness."

Shepard retreated to her seat on the court bench beside Tali. When she sat down, the smelly salarian whose b.o. she'd been trying to ignore for the past hour dealt her a look of disgust, revolted at the presence of a confirmed xenophile. In other circumstances, she might have found the irony amusing. Under current conditions, she would've liked to give the scrawny jerk to Grunt and let the krogan use him as a chew toy.

"I feel I've proven my case before this court," Cereus stated. "I leave the final judgement to the honourable officials of the Hierarchy."

"Very well," the magistrate answered. "Does the defendant wish to say anything?"

Tali made a nervous little sound, part squeak and part sigh. Shepard reached over and grasped her friend's hand, surprised at the strength of the quarian's grip.

Garrus stood up, touching the back of his seat to steady himself. His voice was raw, strangled by nerves, sometimes threatening to crack in the middle of a sentence. "If my actions have hurt people I respect and who I owe certain obligations to, I'm...sorry for that. I tried to be a good son and to do my duties as an officer of C-Sec. If I messed that up, then I'm sorry for that too. But I won't apologize for leaving C-Sec to join the crew of the Normandy. Taking a chance on Commander Shepard was the best decision I ever made. If I had to go back, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. That's all there is to it. I'm prepared for whatever judgement you think fit."

"Very well. The matter is simple enough," the magistrate said. "Does complainant have anything to add before I render the verdict?"

"Yes," Cereus said. "I wish to ask for leniency for my son. Any mistakes Garrus has made are my own failures as a father. His dishonour is my shame. He was dutiful once and I believe that if I had ensured his personal relationships were suitable, he wouldn't have neglected his responsibilities. If the court rules against him today, I request that it only impose upon him a return to active military service and a court order restricting him from leaving Palaven or pursuing any further contact with Commander Shepard. I believe this will be sufficient for his rehabilitation."

He paused, turning his gaze towards Garrus, before he made his final stipulation. "However, if the court deems revocation of his citizenship or a term of hard labour necessary and just, then I wish to undergo the same punishment. It is fitting for the father to bear the same consequences as the son he failed."

Shepard gaped at Cereus, utterly perplexed, wondering if he was being sincere or if this was just a cunning ploy to gain public sympathy.

It was hard to know how Garrus was taking this new development. All she could see was the back of his bowed head, his shoulders hunching forward slightly as if to protect himself from a punch.

The magistrate cleared his throat, a gesture Shepard found pompous. High-ranking turians seemed to take pleasure in vain little flourishes of officialdom.

"I find the defendant guilty in the first count of the indictment, dereliction of duty," he intoned. "However, I have not seen sufficient evidence to prove the lesser charge, neglect of filial obligation. Although I find the defendant's actions and apparent lack of remorse troubling, I am inclined to favour Cereus Vakarian's request for leniency in recognition of his own exemplary record of service to the state. Garrus Vakarian must rejoin the turian military at the rank of legionnaire and agree to remain on Palaven, severing all contact with Commander Jillian Shepard. He has 72 hours to demonstrate to this court that he has complied with all conditions. Failure to do so will result in the permanent revocation of his citizenship and that of his father. Dismissed!"

After the magistrate pronounced the verdict, there was a ten-minute recess. When Garrus rose from the defendant's seat and walked back towards Tali and Shepard, his tall frame appeared stooped and his steps were slow, grudging, as if he had acquired his father's limp.

"Garrus, I'm sorry," Shepard said.

He thrust his shoulders back, raising himself to his full imposing height. "Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong."

"We'll figure something out, Garrus," Tali murmured. "I know we can fix it."

"It's not me that I'm worried about," Garrus said. "If it were only me, I'd just get back on the Normandy and we could get out of here, no problem. But now he's taking the heat too."

He glanced at his father, who was shuffling his way towards the court doors. They didn't speak, just regarded each other warily, with the grudging respect that comes with shared suffering.

Shepard noticed that Cereus was prone to stumbling, relying heavily on his cane to carry his weight. The trial must have tired him out. She wanted to hate the old turian for his prudery and his intolerance, for the accusations he'd levelled at her and the ones that had just simmered behind his eyes, taunting her. He'd shackled Garrus to his impossible expectations and she wasn't sure she could ever forgive him for that. She wanted to ball up her anger and hurl it at him, but she couldn't do it. There was much to dislike in Cereus Vakarian, but there was something in him that demanded respect as well, even admiration. In the end, he was pitiable, although he refused pity, a sick, lonely veteran clutching at his faded ideals.

"I don't know how he'll manage if he loses his citizenship," Garrus said. "The Hierarchy is his whole life. I - I'm not sure that I can take that away from him."

"It was his choice," Tali said.

Garrus shook his head. "Maybe, but when your father did the wrong thing for the right reasons, you didn't sell him out, Tali. You stuck by him."

"That's different. They were going to do terrible things to my father's memory. It wasn't just about bureaucracy."

"It isn't just bureaucracy," he insisted. "Loss of citizenship is a big deal in our culture. For us, it's like exile. I can't let my father go through that. It'd kill him."

Shepard experienced a sudden pang, the dreadful realization that circumstances had changed and that her world might shift irrevocably if she didn't act, if they couldn't find a solution. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Garrus murmured. "I just don't know."


	9. A Good Turian

The Hanging Garden of the Primarchs in the Quorum district was one of the most unabashedly beautiful places that Shepard had seen on Palaven, a world where pragmatism and military spectacle tended to outrank aesthetics. An intricate net of vines dangled over the smooth white walls, starred with purple blossoms. In the uppermost tier of the garden, there were seven gold pagodas, where visitors prayed and made offerings to the spirits. Clouds of coloured smoke wafted from the domed roofs, the smell of incense thickening the air.

Shepard shot Garrus a look of astonishment. "This is really your favourite place on Palaven? I was guessing that you'd be taking me to a shooting range."

"Hey, I'm cultured," he said, feigning hurt feelings. "I can appreciate my people's heritage. Besides, this would be a great place for a gunfight."

"So will we be going to an antique shop next? A classy one? Because I hate to disappoint you, but I didn't even bring a pistol."

Garrus shook his head, giving a disapproving click of his tongue. He tapped the holsters on either side of his hips. "I never go out on a romantic evening without protection. That's just irresponsible."

It felt good to laugh, although tension still lingered from that afternoon's citizenship hearing. She'd resolved to have a fun night out and just take things as they came, but the agonized look that occasionally appeared on Garrus' face between snappy comebacks reminded her that their troubles on Palaven were a long way from being over. Nevertheless, she had to appreciate the garden and the game attempt he was making at being romantic. His efforts to woo her on the Normandy had been nervous and stilted - as could be expected when one had to rely on interspecies courtship advice courtesy of Dr. Mordin, whose most committed relationships were with bacterial samples and specimens floating in formaldehyde. By contrast, in the more familiar setting of his home world, Shepard thought Garrus came perilously close to being suave.

"So am I mistaken or is this our first real date?" she asked.

"What? The suicide mission didn't count?"

She smiled. "Well, I guess blowing up the Collectors' base is a hell of a lot more original than dinner and a vid."

"See? This is why I like you. You get it."

Garrus reached over and grasped her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. He gave her arm a gentle little swing, as if he was pleased with his daring. She was surprised – and well, pleased too. He'd never been big on public displays of affection and from what she'd observed in her travels, hand-holding was a human behaviour, not exactly standard practice on Palaven. When turians wanted to show intimacy, they seemed to be big on leaning their heads together, touching fringe to fringe, or pressing foreheads. Initially, Shepard had found it pretty bizarre. She'd only started to warm up to the idea after Garrus had explained there was symbolism behind it: it was supposed to indicate a meeting of minds, a melding of thoughts and desires. That didn't make bonking foreheads feel any more natural, but it made the action a bit less silly to her. Still, it was nice to do things the human way once in a while, even if it prompted startled looks from a few turian passers-by.

They wandered over to a stone bench and sat down. The last rays of evening light streamed through the palm canopy, tingeing the thatched domes of the pagodas copper and pinkish-orange. Shepard couldn't see the setting sun through the glass ceiling, but one of Palaven's moons was already visible, a hazy apparition in a darkening sky.

"Jill? I sort of had an ulterior motive for bringing you here. Maybe it's best just to tell you now."

"What? It's 'Jill' now?" A tremor of apprehension ran through her chest. "You never call me that."

"I know, but it doesn't feel right using 'Shepard' all the time. I just think we're a bit past that. But if you don't like it, I can stop."

She swallowed her misgivings. "No. Jill is – just fine. So why are we here? Are you planning to sweep me up, carry me into one of those pagodas and ravish me? Because, I don't know about you, but after the day we just had, I could really go in for some of that."

Garrus hesitated, his mandibles flaring. His fingers gripped hers as tightly as they had at the Collectors' base, when he'd caught her hand, pulling her back onto the safety of the Normandy.

"C'mon, don't leave me hanging," she said, her voice breaking into pained laugh. "The suspense is killing me here."

He gave a reluctant sigh. "I've been thinking about my father and about what happened today, just wracking my brain over it. I can't see a way out."

"There's always a way out. Don't be so damn fatalistic."

"No matter what I do here, I'm going to lose something important."

"Look, I was thinking we could appeal the decision, go up the chain of command..."

"Seventy-two hours," he reminded her. "There isn't enough time. And you have a mission. One that's a lot more important than my legal problems."

"You're important to this mission. You're important to me."

He turned away, bowing his head. His broad shoulders shuddered, his body racked by short, pained breaths. "Damn it. Damn. Please don't say that."

"Why not?" she said. "It's true."

"Because it's like a twisting a knife in me, that's why. You think I want this? Being on the Normandy... being with you – it felt good, Jill. It was one thing that went absolutely right. But I can't leave my father to suffer. I can't do that to him."

"He did it to himself."

"I know. And I hate it. But I can't hate him. No matter how hard I want to," Garrus said. "Look, you know why he lives in that crappy apartment? Why everything in there is so run-down and old?"

She shook her head.

"It's because he kept giving his cash to the Hierarchy," Garrus said. "Public causes, gifts to the spirits, you name it. Like a vow of poverty. When I was a kid, it used to embarrass the hell out of me. I had this famous father, the toast of the Citadel, and I had to wear clothes out of a fucking donation bin."

He tilted his head slightly, his face distant with memory. "And you know what really gets me about it? As much as it made me crazy, I admired him for it too. I wanted to be like him. Screwed up, huh?"

"You love your dad," she murmured. "Nothing screwed up about that."

"The Hierarchy is his whole life. If I let them take his citizenship, he won't have anything. Letting him go through that for me – it'd feel like I murdered him. Like I killed everything he ever stood for."

"Why do you have to take everything upon yourself? It's not your fault."

"Isn't it? I chose my own path. I've done things in the heat of the moment that I can't justify to my father. Some of them I can hardly justify to myself."

"For all you know, he could've planned everything just to make you feel guilty."

"It worked," he admitted. "I've never felt like – a criminal before."

"You can't be serious about this."

Garrus cast his eyes down at his folded hands, a look of resignation crossing his face. "I'm sorry, Jill."

"You're going to play the noble son," she said bitterly. "Guess you're a better turian than you thought."

He flinched at that, his pale eyes blinking, but he didn't dispute her assessment. "I just...there's just some things that I can't bring myself to do. This is a stupid order and I know it, but this time, I've got to obey. Because being a traitor – the way I see it, that's a hell of a lot worse than... unhappiness."

"So that's the end of it?" she asked. "You brought me out here just to break-up?"

"Not to break up, Jill. Damn it. There's nothing broken between us. It's just...time to say goodbye."

"That's what a break-up is, Garrus."

He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, hunching forward and stretching his legs, widening the gap between his lean thighs. "You're going to laugh at me, but this is the first time I've done this."

Shepard gaped at him. "This is your first break-up?"

"In the past, I was lot more...casual."

She frowned. "You like flexibility. I know."

"I did, yeah. But waking up next to you was nice, Jill. I was really getting used to that."

"So was I," she said.

Shepard felt as if she should have known better. These sorts of affairs never worked out. All she'd done was spoil a perfectly good friendship by burdening it with expectations and all these inconvenient feelings.

A faint breeze passed through the garden, caressing her cheek and ruffling her close-cropped hair. She smoothed down the pesky cowlick at the back of her head and folded her arms over her chest. For the first time since she'd arrived on Palaven, she felt cold.

"You're better off without me," Garrus said, out of nowhere. "All I can do is hurt you."

"That isn't true."

He stroked a hand over her bandaged wrist, gently lifting it as a reminder, as if he thought the injury had somehow escaped her notice. "I cut you, because I got stupid and careless. I don't ever want to do that again."

"It was an accident."

His small eyes glimmered, gem-like in his craggy face. "I saw the painkillers in your bathroom. You have to dose yourself up every time I put my hands on you."

"Maybe I like a little pain with my pleasure," she said. "Look, when I said I wanted you, I meant all of you, every part. Talons included. If there are risks that go with that, I'll take them too."

He put his head in his hands, obscuring most of his face, although she could see his mandibles working, his jaw set on edge. "I need you to tell me you don't want me, Jill. Please just tell me that and let me go."

"I'm not going to do that."

"Please."

"No. I want you," she persisted, her voice rising. "I want us. Let me be selfish."

"I'm sorry," he said. "What can I do? Tell me what to do. I just – I want to make things right."

Her face softened. He had a way of defusing her anger just by existing. She found it terrifying to feel that way about somebody. It occurred to her that she could forgive him almost anything, and there was a part of her personality, a small, spiteful, cowardly part that resented the utter helplessness that came with that.

"You can't make things right, Garrus. I can't either. We're just going to have to settle for things as they are. Fucked-up and sad."

"I figured that maybe it'd be good to make tonight special," he said. "Like it was before the big mission, when we didn't know if we'd be coming back. Probably not the best plan I ever had."

She gave him a weary smile. "It was a great idea. I liked how you kept opening doors for me. Never knew you such a gentleman."

"I wish it was something better."

"This is good enough," she said. "We'll take tonight. We'll say goodbye. It'll be special."

"You sure you're okay with that?" he said. "I don't want to make things...worse."

"I'm okay with it, Garrus."

He wrapped his arm around her waist, shuffling along the bench until his thighs pressed up against hers. She let her head loll back against his shoulder. It was easy to yield, to surrender to the despair and desire all tangled up inside of her. The breeze buffeted around them, solidifying their silence.

"Okay," he said, finally, breaking the quiet. "Let's be selfish for a few more hours then. Let's make them count."

In her quarters back on the Normandy, he stripped her clothes off, slowly, carefully, his gaze straying over her body, taking in each part of her as if he wanted to memorize each form, line or texture, every scar, mole or freckle.

"Beautiful. All of you."

She believed him. Not just the words, but the inexplicable way he looked at her, suddenly so still, his clear eyes betraying an awe that she'd never believed him capable of feeling, not for her alien form. She pressed her lips against his throat, feeling the tendons in his neck straining against skin, kissing him in a rush of gratitude.

Raking her hands over his shoulders, she enjoyed the ripple of lean muscle along his back. His plate was ridged with grey scales, but she'd become used to the coarse texture rubbing against her skin until it flushed pink. She'd even started to find the roughness stimulating, an enticement rather than a hardship to be endured for the sake of other enjoyments.

His hands slid between her thighs and his throat gave a rumble of pleasure. He seemed to savour the warmth of her, the wetness, and she knew he enjoyed watching as she squirmed at his touch, completely helpless under his ministrations. He was a sniper after all - watching targets through one's scope definitely made for a secret voyeuristic streak. When he pressed her down against the mattress, it felt good to have his weight upon her, to feel his body against hers, a solid fact, something that wouldn't melt away or slip through her fingers.

They made love three times over the course of the night, varying pace and positions, revisiting old favourites. During the pauses in-between, they lounged on her bed and talked, not about anything important and certainly not about what would happen tomorrow or in the days to come. She wanted to stay awake as long as she could, if only avoid the inevitable goodbye, but it was so nice to nestle into the warm space between his neck and the bend of his thighs, so reassuring to feel his arms around her, to close her eyes and listen to the gentle rasp of his breathing, that, at last, she succumbed to sleep.

When Shepard woke up, the blanket was tucked up around her neck, something that she hadn't remembered doing. In fact, as she recalled, she'd fallen asleep completely uncovered, trusting to the warmth of his body, his hot breath upon the back of her neck. She rolled over, her arm reaching for Garrus, but her fingers found only wrinkled sheets, a bare mattress. Sitting up, she stared at the pillow where his head had lain. It still held the indent of his cheek.

He was gone. She hadn't expected it to be so sudden...so real.

Shepard picked up the pillow and pressed it to her face, inhaling the smell of him. She wanted to remember all of it, even if the loneliness gutted her.

When she was showered and dressed again, she went downstairs to his small room on the crew deck. He'd cleared out all his possessions, except for his favourite rifle, his Kawashi visor and a datapad, which were carefully arranged upon his narrow bunk. She picked up the datapad.

_Jill: _

_These are for you. Sorry. I'm not good at goodbyes. _

_Thanks. For everything._

He hadn't even signed the note. Somehow that affected her, stupid as it was. She wanted to see his name at the bottom of the screen mirroring hers at the top, a familiar symmetry.

Shepard set down the datapad and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking beneath her. She felt bird-fragile, as if her bones might shatter at a touch. It would have been a relief to sob, but nothing came. When she exited his old room, she sealed the door behind her, leaving everything exactly as she'd found it. She didn't want to pick up the souvenirs he'd left for her. She didn't know where to put them.

Getting into the elevator, she got out on the command deck and went to see Joker and EDI in the cockpit.

"Our business is done here," she said. "We can fly back to Auctoritas."

"I should inform you that Garrus exited the ship at six a.m. this morning, Shepard," EDI noted. "Surely you wish to wait until we have all crew members onboard."

"Or, hey, we could just fly away," Joker said. "You know, just to mess with his head. See how many mercs he kills before we come back for him."

Shepard stared at the control panel, straining to keep her voice perfectly level. "Garrus has decided to leave the crew. Personal reasons. He gave me his resignation last night."

Joker's eyes narrowed into slits. He seemed to think she was just yanking his chain. "No way. Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

"Like, for real? 'Cause if this is your idea of an April's Fool's joke, it sucks. And it's also six months too late."

She gave him a frosty look. "Do I look like I'm making a joke?"

"No," he said, suddenly chastened. He lowered the brim of his baseball cap. "We'll get going, Commander. Straight away."

"Thank you."

She turned back towards the command deck, forcing herself to think about Auctoritas and the mission ahead. Immersing oneself in the satisfactions of work was always the best cure for heartache.

"Hey Shepard?"

She spun back to look at Joker.

"What?"

"Uh, I'm sorry. You know, about Garrus."

Sympathy from Joker? Shit, she must be looking tragic, even worse than she felt.

She nodded. "Thanks, but I'm okay. And we've got work to do."

"Look, Shepard, if you need to talk about it..." He paused and reconsidered his offer. "Actually, you should, uh, probably go talk to Tali. Or Kelly. Or just about anybody else. I'm not really...good with this kind of thing."

She had to smile at that confession. "It's alright, Joker. You're here to pilot the ship. I don't expect you to be my therapist."

"Well, if you want to hang out and watch horror vids or something, I'm cool with that," he replied. "Just, uh, don't ask me to talk. Feelings – that stuff really isn't my bag. My DVD collection, on the other hand, is awesome."

"After this mission, I may take you up on that," she said. "I'll bring the popcorn."

When Shepard returned to the galaxy map and her command console, Kelly still wasn't to be found. However, she heard some noises from the briefing room that led her to believe the yeoman might be working in there.

Walking into the briefing room, she discovered Kelly and Mordin glued to the vid screen, watching a show. The wide screen showed an elcor wearing gloopy mascara, a pearl necklace and a wide-brimmed purple hat, complete with a netted veil that obscured her eyes. There was a wash of dramatic music, a tinkling of piano keys and then the string section rose to a heart-rending, tear-wrenching crescendo.

"Touching Appeal: You said loved me, Xeltan," the glamorous elcor intoned. "Bitter Accusation: You promised me forever and now you're stealing it away."

An elcor actor appeared on the screen, virtually indistinguishable from the actress, except for the fact he was wearing a pair of designer sunglasses. "Callous Statement: Our love was a lie, Miwen. I am aware of this now. Unnecessary Exposition: It was all a result of my terrible head injury and your mysterious abduction by Count Androgia. Now we must be parted forever."

"Agonized and Despairing Cry: No. No. It isn't true. You love me."

"Cruel Revelation: No, I do not. Mean-spirited Addendum: Also, I am sleeping with your asari stepsister. The mind sex is the best I ever had."

"Eh, whatever. That Xeltan's a fucking bag of vorcha shit."

Shepard turned and saw Jack leaning against the far wall, her arms folded across her tattooed chest. She was watching the show too, casting cagey glances at the screen, but she seemed reluctant to be caught at it or to associate herself with Kelly, who was already sniffling over Miwen's heartbreak.

"What is this?" Shepard asked her.

Jack shrugged. "Pop culture, Shep. You should look into it sometime."

"Can you be more specific?"

"It's one of those bat-shit crazy elcor soap operas. _Ever So Many Romantic Misunderstandings_."

"And you watch this?"

"Hell no!" Jack tilted her head towards Kelly. "Oh man, just look at Carrot Juice over here. Such a pussy. You watch, any minute now, she's gonna start bawling. Such a little bitch. They'd have loved her in Purgatory. Everyone's favourite shower buddy."

Of course, Kelly was a lot kinkier than Jack realized. And well, very open-minded. Kelly was the kind of person who actually might drop the soap in a Purgatory shower – on purpose. Just for 'the experience'. When Mordin had dropped hints that somebody on the ship had scale itch...well, let's just say Kelly had ranked high on Shepard's list of suspects.

"It's just so...sad," Kelly gasped between sobs. "There's nothing wrong with having a good cry."

"Carrots, get a fuckin' hold of yourself. It's a bloody vid," Jack said. "Miwen's better with the Count anyway. He's a bad-ass smuggler and he gives her diamonds and crap. That bastard Xeltan doesn't have a pot to piss in."

Mordin stopped goggling at the screen for a second and turned to hush them. "Chatter distracting. Must observe anecdotal evidence."

"Mordin, you can't seriously be watching this crap."

"Conducting study of mass media impact on elcor psychology. Believe species developing increased emotional affect. Uncertain if daytime melodramas are causative or merely symptomatic. Regardless, implications fascinating."

Shepard nodded, pretending as though she totally understood his rapid-fire theorizing. In conversation, Mordin was like an intellectual machine-gun. In lieu of bullets, he riddled people with ideas. After a friendly chat with the good doctor, it usually took Shepard about half an hour just to process everything that'd come out of his mouth.

"Kelly, when you're done, will you come find me?" she asked. "I need you to oversee some work related to personnel changes."

Kelly wiped the tears from her eyes, her voice husky with emotion. "Of course, Commander. It'd be my pleasure."

As Shepard retreated from the briefing room, a smirk crept across her lips. Things could be worse. She'd just lost her best friend but she still had a really fantastic team, one that she was really grateful to be working with. And they were at least as entertaining as any vid. Actually, come to think of it, sometimes she had the sneaking suspicion that she might be living in an elcor soap opera, although nobody stated their intentions before they spoke and none of her crew members wore such fetching accessories.

Shepard pushed the button to summon the elevator. It was almost lunch-time and she could definitely go in for some of Gardner's calamari gumbo or that savoury purple stew he'd made the other night – it'd tasted pretty good, although she didn't want to contemplate any of the ingredients.

The lift doors opened and she found herself confronted with the absolute last person she'd wanted to encounter: a solemn-faced Kaidan Alenko.

"Shepard. I wanted to talk to you. Think you can spare a minute?"

"I'm going down to grab lunch, but you can ride along if you like," she said, stepping into the elevator. "What's the issue?"

Kaidan's olive skin looked positively ashen. She had to wonder how much sleep the guy was getting or if his migraines were flaring up again. Stress wasn't good for him, but the poor guy subjected himself to it anyway – he was conscientious like that.

"I just got some feedback from Alliance Command," he said. "They're, um, they're not happy."

"They're never happy. But, okay, I'll bite. How'd I piss them off now?"

She jabbed at the button for the crew deck and then proceeded to fidget with the sleeves of her jacket. The elevator doors shut, making her feel distinctly...trapped. Not that Kaidan was going to bite her head off or maul her or anything especially brutal like that, but he had a talent for painful lectures and he was capable of giving her some very cutting looks.

Kaiden gave a sniff of discomfort. "Well, you know how I told you going to Palaven was a bad idea? How I predicted that the human media wasn't going to take it well?"

"Yeah? So?"

"The human media didn't take it well," he said. "They're acting like you're about to defect or sell state secrets. Westerlund News, in particular...they're trying to get you grounded for good."

"I thought Anderson was hooking me up with a publicist. It's not my problem to deal with."

"A publicist, Shepard. Not a miracle-worker," Kaiden reminded her. "And technically, while you're in the field, I'm supposed to be keeping a rein on you. Of course, it doesn't work too well if you won't listen to a word I say."

"I listen," she said.

"Listen?" He looked incredulous. "If you say so. But the message doesn't seem to be getting through."

The elevator door opened and she stepped out, striding towards the mess hall. "Oh, you've made yourself clear. You don't want me to say 'boo' to anyone. But hey, my ship, my rules."

"Not if you want to keep associating yourself with the Alliance."

"When did the admiralty get to be such a bunch of pissy little whiners?" she griped. "I'm trying to be as accommodating as I can. I'm sorry if I haven't observed all the finer points of etiquette, but as far as I can tell, defeating the Reapers isn't a damn tea party."

"Hilarious, Shepard. You're a real laugh riot."

"I try to keep things light."

She plunked her butt down at the long mess hall table and examined the menu. Today's special: Chef's Surprise. Oh, damn. She didn't like surprises.

Kaidan eased down on the bench across from her. "Look, there are people out there trying to get you booted from the Alliance. Anderson's having a hell of a time justifying some of the stuff you do."

"What do you mean? I'm a bloody model of decorum."

"Mouthing off to Councillor Velarn? Testifying on the record in a turian court case? You've got to admit, those aren't exactly diplomatic moves."

"Alright, sure. Maybe I get carried away. Sometime I'm not mindful enough. But there's no way I can win. Either I'm doing stuff to offend the turians or people are accusing me of selling out humanity."

"Well, I'm taking a lot of heat for it," he snapped, digging his elbows into the table.

He took a deep breath, seeming to realize that he was getting testy. "I'm asking you nicely, as one soldier to another: can you please just bring me along on field missions? In an advisory role. Just let me do my job, Shepard. Because when you run amok, I end up paying for it. You may think that's funny, but I don't."

She sighed. "Okay. I'm sorry. I can do that. I didn't realize I was putting you in a bad situation."

He looked thoughtful and a little surprised that she'd heeded him.

"But I'm not always going to do what you say," she added quickly. "I'm still the commander here."

"That's fine. I don't want your responsibilities. I just want to be around. To mitigate things."

"Alright."

"So can you debrief me now on what we're doing on Auctoritas?" he asked. "I was pretty sure the Bureau refused us access to the estate."

She gave a wry laugh. "Oh-oh."

"What is it?"

"You're not going to be happy about what I've got planned there. I'm going to try to be discreet, but there could be...fall-out."

A light sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead. He brushed a hand through his hair, looking tired and a bit feverish. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're going to break-in to the estate, take the evidence and hope to heck that nobody catches us with our hand in the cookie jar."

"That's ridiculous. If you get caught -"

She nodded, as if to confirm the thought he left unspoken. "There're going to be some very angry turians. Like I said, I just can't win."

"I can't go along with this..."

"I need that evidence, Kaidan. I know there's something there. I can feel it."

He frowned. "I really don't like this. Not at all."

"Sorry," she said. "And we were getting along so nicely too."


	10. Shadow Team

Before Kelly assembled the squad for a general announcement, Shepard made a point of going down to Engineering and breaking the news of Garrus' departure to Tali. She'd known that her friend would be upset, but Tali's response was even stronger than she'd expected.

"Keelah...no. That – that's insane! He can't just go and do that!"

The combat mech that she was tinkering with suffered the consequences of this outburst, getting a wrench shoved into a place where a wrench was definitely not supposed to go. Tali set down the tool, the edges of her gold veil fluttering around her visor. Leaning back against the wall, she huddled down on the edge of the console platform, looking forlorn.

She was trying sound outraged, but her voice quavered with sadness. "He didn't even come down here and say goodbye."

Shepard bit her lips. Damn those emotionally stunted turians. If Garrus had to sneak out on her and the crew when everyone was sleeping, if he couldn't find it in himself to deal with a long farewell, she just wished, at the very least, that he would've taken time to write Tali a note.

Garrus was very good at dealing with sentients when they were, oh, about 500 metres away and their heads were neatly encircled by his scope but interactions at close range posed more of a problem for him. There were inefficiencies, complications and what he'd always claimed to hate most, elaborate rules of engagement. Shepard wished he was around so she could give him a good smack upside the head for being so bloody thoughtless. And well... she just wished he was around.

She slumped down beside her friend, the ridges of her spine pressing into the wall. It was an uncomfortable position, but it felt right somehow, maybe because it aligned perfectly with the uncomfortable circumstances she found herself in, the aches and pains that she just had to grin and bear.

"I think he really wanted to say goodbye to you, Tali. He's just –" She searched for the right adjective. Conflicted? Guilt-ridden? Impulsive? None of them really seemed to do Garrus or his complex situation any justice.

"I know what he's like," Tali said. "And I know what he's going through. I'm just disappointed, that's all."

"He'll probably send a message over to your extranet account. Hopefully an apologetic one."

"Yeah and it'll be about three sentences long," she fumed. "Have you ever tried to talk him on the extranet? Like, on instant-messaging?"

"No, can't say I've ever tried." Before this morning, if she'd wanted to talk to Garrus, he'd usually been within arm's reach. Besides, she knew he avoided his accounts like an Omega plague zone.

"Well, here's a sample of how it goes," Tali said. "You type him this long, very informative message and then he just answers back with 'Really', 'Great' or 'Impressive'."

For someone who was shy in-person, Tali had proven herself to be a compulsive texter and an inveterate IM chatterbox. Shepard just found those gadgets and applications distracting, so she could understand why Garrus might've been reluctant to encourage the quarian's constant updates on her latest project or her bitter complaints about how Ken was a male chauvinist and always ogling the fit of her exo-suit. Or, Keelah, yet another invitation to play the "Batarian Raiders" simulation game or to adopt one of the cutesy digital farm animals produced from her latest session of "Home-world Farm Colony".

"And then," Tali continued, "after five minutes of pauses and one-word answers, he tells you he has to go because he's got 'calibrations' to work on."

"There are a lot of things around here to calibrate," Shepard said diplomatically.

The quarian heaved a flustered sigh. "Maybe. But if Garrus isn't on the ship, we're never going to talk. And I'm going to miss him."

Shepard didn't know how to answer. She would've liked to be able to reassure her friend that Garrus would do something, that he wouldn't just cut the bonds of friendships that had been forged in fire, ones that had become nearly as close as family through living together under stress and in close quarters. She would've liked to promise that he'd put his famous stubbornness to good use, and find a way around the stringent conditions imposed by the turian courts and his own guilt, but she just couldn't make that guarantee. In fact, from what she'd gathered so far, he planned to do the opposite, to tuck his time on the Normandy away in a secret compartment, another piece of the past he could bury in the back of his skull, and perhaps brood over, when nobody was watching.

Tali touched her arm. "Sorry, Shepard. I'm such a little bosh'tet. I just go on talking about me. I haven't even asked you if you're okay. I know the two of you were really...close. Are you alright?"

Shepard opened her mouth to say, "Yeah, sure. No problem. It's all totally under control," but what came out instead was a shrill sob, a bunch of pathetic sniffles. Her features dissolved into tears, her whole face getting puffy and red, as if her sadness were expanding inside her, stretching out her skin. "No...I just...I just..wanted things to go right."

Tali grabbed her and hugged her, gently rocking her back and forth in her arms.

"I..I told him not to go," Shepard said through her tears, trying desperately to explain herself. "I told him...but he said he couldn't stay and I hate it, Tali. I hate it so much. I can't stand being on the ship and he's not here..."

"Shhhh. It's okay. It's alright."

Rubbing her fists into her eye sockets, she sniffed, hoping to stop her nose from running. A wussy, germy cry-baby dripping snot and tears and saliva from every leaky hole in her face was gross under normal circumstances, but it was downright dangerous to be doing it right beside Tali, of all people. Pressing her hands against her friend's shoulders, she tried to ease herself back from her arms.

"It's okay, relax," Tali said. "Antibiotics, Shepard. I take them."

Shepard gave a gasp, sucking in a long breath and then forced an unconvincing chuckle. "Oh man, I'm such... an idiot. I'm sorry. I should be tougher than this."

"Shepard, don't you dare get up," Tali said, squeezing her tightly enough to crush a few ribs. Shepard had forgotten the power of the Tali death-grip, but yeah, that tiny little quarian girl had hands like vises. "I'm warning you. If you try to walk away while I'm hugging you, Chiktikka and I will chase you down."

Shepard managed a smile, bumping her forehead against the padded shoulder of Tali's exo-suit. "Thanks."

"It's okay. Breaking-up is really hard to do. Not that I'm an expert on that subject..."

"Well, it's not as if you don't have lots of guys chasing you, trying to get their hearts broken," Shepard replied. "I mean, Ken keeps dropping all these weird, suggestive comments about how good with tools you are. And Kal'Reegar worships the deck of any ship you walk on."

"I know your game, Shepard. Don't change the subject. We were talking about you," Tali said. "Besides Kal doesn't like me that way. He's just very protective of Fleet resources."

"Yeah, Fleet resources that happen to be totally adorable," she teased.

"Stop it. I mean it," Tali warned her, her fingers tapping at her omni-tool with the threatening dexterity of an angry tech expert. "Right now we're not talking about my private life. I want to know the story about Garrus. Did he at least say something to you before he left?"

Shepard nodded. "Kind of."

"Kind of? You're not sure? Were you drunk?"

The fact that her friend said this with complete earnestness made Shepard worried. Now she definitely, definitely regretted drinking that ryncol in front of Tali at the Dark Star. The quarian was obviously starting to worry that her commander was making a slow descent into alcoholism and would one day be found passed out in the cockpit with six empty bottles of children's cough syrup and a well-thumbed copy of _Fornax_.

"I mean, I knew he'd decided that he had to go and that what we had...was ending," Shepard explained. "But if I'd thought he was just going to go off in the middle of the night – well, I would've hog-tied him, then cuffed his leg to the weapons console. Maybe knocked him out too."

Tali gave a giggle of embarrassment. "That is way too much information."

"I wouldn't be doing it for fun," she explained. "It'd be for his own good. He may not realize it, but I think he needed to say goodbye as much as you did. Maybe even more."

EDI popped up on a console in the left corner of the room. Her round-headed avatar flashed with urgency. "The crew is starting to gather in the Briefing Room, Shepard. You may wish to head upstairs."

Shepard nodded. "Okay, thanks."

"Are you sure that you want to go up there?" Tali said. "If you like, I can make the announcement."

"It's nice of you to offer, but really, I can handle it. Besides, I think it's best that I do this myself."

When Shepard and Tali arrived in the Briefing Room, Kelly, Mordin, Kaidan, Jacob, Kasumi and Miranda were already assembled around the grey table. Shepard took a seat at the end, next to Jacob, knowing that it would probably take the others at least a few more minutes to arrive. Jack, in particular, was notorious for being late to these group chats, not because she was so ridiculously busy and productive hunkering down in the engine room, but because she liked to give object demonstrations that she wasn't tied to anyone else's timetable.

"I wish certain staff members learn to be a bit more punctual," Miranda said. "The message said we were meeting at three p.m. on the dot."

Jacob gave a broad, mysterious smile and checked his wrist, which was now adorned with a very expensive-looking silver sports-watch. "Well, according to my stylin' new watch, they still have thirty-six seconds left."

He cast an unsubtle glance at Kasumi and she giggled into the back of her hand, giving Shepard a good idea of where his new toy had come from.

Miranda looked annoyed. "Where did you get that?"

"It was a gift. From someone with really exquisite taste," Jacob said, making eyes at Kasumi again.

Damn, his come-ons are awful, Shepard thought. His porn-tastic cool guy swagger, which consisted of deepening his voice and stretching out vowel sounds like he was Barry White ("...in spaaaaaccce, babygirl") was particularly cringe-worthy. If Jacob scored with the ladies, it was definitely more a result of his laidback nature and a buff physique than his questionable flirtation technique.

"She probably stole that," Miranda snapped, staring at the watch. "It probably has someone else's name engraved on the back. Just so you know."

It occurred to Shepard that it might be a good idea to intervene at this point, but Miranda's cattiness didn't boil over into a brawl. Kasumi just leaned back in her chair, completely unfazed by the jealousy and even a bit amused by it.

"I don't give stolen gifts. That's so inconsiderate," she said. "I just pawned all the stuff I actually stole before I went shopping! The watch is totally legit. You can see the receipt, if you like."

"Well, of course, selling stolen goods to afford a purchase. That just makes a world of difference," Miranda retorted.

Kasumi smirked, the red mark on her lip widening. "I'd have picked something up for you too, Miri, but I couldn't find any tiaras."

Jacob loosed a long, low chuckle at Miranda's expense, one that he'd probably been struggling to hold in since he first started working under her. "Tiaras! Oh, damn. Sorry, but she totally got you there, Lawson..." He gave Kasumi props under the ledge of the table.

"Very professional," Miranda muttered, seeming to realize that she'd been vanquished, at least temporarily. Under her glare of annoyance, she looked hurt and Shepard remembered how damaged the Cerberus officer was beneath that facade of icy competence and calculation. It was apparent to almost everyone on the ship that she was still holding a torch for Jacob and that his new flirtation with Kasumi wounded her almost as bitterly as not being declared XO.

Finally, the others came trickling into the room, Jack sauntering in at the back of the pack, looking pleased to be the very last one through the door. Shepard let her have these petty victories, because the illusion of getting one over on the 'boss lady' seemed to satisfy the convict, and prevented her from going AWOL or raising a mutiny when it really mattered. Shepard wasn't foolish enough to think that she'd tamed Jack or earned the undying loyalty of someone who distrusted her own shadow, but life on the Normandy had definitely succeeded in house-breaking her a little bit.

Shepard stood up, eyeing her crew and waiting for them to stop muttering amongst themselves. In her head, she counted out the number of seconds it took for them all to shut up and listen. _1...2...3..._ She never spoke in crew meetings until there was absolute, respectful silence_. ...4...5..._When Garrus had been around, he'd been helpful in speeding this process up, usually by fixing the offending speakers with a steely sniper's stare that seemed to indicate he was calculating shot distance, trajectories and the possibility for collateral damage. _6...7...8..._She felt another pang of loss. He'd always, always had her back. She'd never even had to ask. _9...10...11_... And at last, everyone quieted down, sat in their proper seats and settled in for the meeting.

She gave them the little speech she'd planned out earlier in the afternoon. It was mostly soulless pseudo-corporate managerial bullshit and didn't encapsulate even half of what she felt, but it sounded professional and would inspire a lot more confidence from the team than incoherent weeping or a lengthy rant about how tyrannical, tight-fisted, manipulative turian fathers and ridiculous, pompous, uptight turian judges had conspired to wreck the one of the best things she had going.

"I wanted to bring everybody here because I have some really sad news. You'll notice that there's someone missing from this meeting, someone whom we all know well and who has been an important part of the Normandy for a very long time.

"Garrus has resigned from the team. It's a decision that I know he didn't make lightly, but in the end, he chose what he thought was best for himself, for the crew and for his family. I know that he enjoyed working with all of you and that he regrets not having had the opportunity to say a formal goodbye. I'm going to miss him a lot, both as a good friend and as a soldier, but I also know that he would want us to stay strong as a team and to go out and kick some Reaper ass in his honour."

She scanned the room, watching their reactions. Many of them looked surprised, even hurt. Kaidan, in particular, shrank back into his chair with a stunned, rather guilty expression.

Kelly slowly raised her hand in the air, as if they were all back in grade school.

Shepard sighed. In most regards, her yeoman was a very competent young woman, but in sometimes, she still acted like the funny, backward kid from the colonies who'd joined Cerberus on a mad whim, thinking she'd get to make friends, see new places. Yeah, because that's what a pro-human terrorist organization is all about.

"Yes? Kelly?"

"When did Garrus decide this? It just seems so...sudden."

"He informed me of his decision last night," Shepard said. "I trust his judgment and I respect his privacy so I can't say much more than that."

"It's freakin' weird," Kasumi commented. "You can't just walk out on _nakama_ like that."

Kelly's eyebrows lifted hopefully. "Nakama? That's an unfamiliar word. Japanese?"

"Yeah. It means we're tight. Like family," Kasumi said. "Maybe we don't see eye-to-eye, but when trouble shows up, we pull each other's butts out of the fire. You don't just leave your nakama. It's not cool."

Kelly smiled. "I like that concept."

"So who will be taking over Garrus' duties in this little nakama of ours?" Miranda cut in, sounding just a touch too eager. "I mean, it seems clear to me that we're going to have to re-distribute staff appointments..."

As much as she was going to need a new XO, Shepard felt very reluctant to pass the job over to Miranda. Nobody could replace Garrus in that role, not in her mind. Besides, it was too soon to even consider getting someone else to fill the place he'd left vacant. And as capable as Miranda was, Shepard found that they didn't have the natural chemistry required to lead in unison. The other woman was insecure, always vying for more power or looking for leverage.

"I haven't quite decided that yet," Shepard answered. "For the time being, I'll divide Garrus' old job into separate duties and assign those to the best qualified people. That way, nobody's tasked too hard and we can all work together to pick up the slack."

"If you say so," Miranda said, hiding her displeasure behind a frosty, tight-lipped smile.

"Anyway, we'll be commencing Operation Shadow tonight at the Arterius estate," Shepard stated. "I want all the members of my ground team sharp and clear-headed. And to everyone who's staying back at the ship this time: I know you're eager to get out there, but don't worry, this fight isn't over yet, not by a long-shot. If you're bored and need some tasks to do, talk to Miranda, Joker or EDI and I'm sure they'll have something to assign you."

She glanced around the room. "Questions?"

Jack tipped back in her seat, balancing precariously on the back legs of her chair. "Yeah, I got a question. Did Garrus leave because everybody found out you two were fucking in the gunnery bay?"

Shepard's mouth went slack and she stood for a long moment, just aghast, before she remembered to blink, to breathe. "No."

She paused, realizing her mistake, and corrected herself. "I mean, that's off-limits, Jack."

"'Cause, just so you know, nobody gave a squat which crazy alien you were banging. Well, except for maybe Sergeant Tight-Ass over here." Jack nodded in Kaidan's direction, tossing him a little wave of recognition, just in case he hadn't recognized his new nickname.

"Th-th-that's completely out-of-line," Kaidan stuttered, his skin taking on a sickly green tinge.

Jack smiled. She enjoyed watching other people squirm. "But it's true. Ain't it, pretty boy? She was letting the turian fuck her and it drove you mental."

"Jack, right now, your own personal flavour of bullshit is starting to drive _me_ mental. I think we're done here, folks," Shepard declared. "Crew dismissed."

She felt awful for poor Kaidan, who looked completely mortified, bolting up from his chair and rushing out of the Briefing Room.

Shepard had always recognized that new Normandy was different from the old one – the facilities were larger and more luxurious, the team was more raucous and their perspectives were more diverse, and even she had been altered, by death and by the realities of her everyday life – but she hadn't realized until now how lost Kaidan must feel in this bizarre new version of his previous existence, like having been transported into a parallel universe. He'd once been an integral member of the team, a consummate insider, but his loyalty to the Alliance now placed him in the role of stranger, spy and antagonist. It must have been jarring.

While there was little she could do to smooth over the rift in her friendship with Kaidan, she resolved to behave better professionally, to avoid indulging cheap shots and resentment at his loyalty to the Alliance. In the end, he really was a stand-up guy and while she didn't love him, he was more than worthy of her respect. Perhaps she could pull some strings behind the scenes to make sure he was comfortable on the ship. Even encouraging the friendlier members of the crew, like Kelly or Jacob, to go chat with him might make a big difference.

And maybe, just maybe, when she had the chance, she could ask Tali to reassure Kaidan that his fight with Garrus hadn't caused the turian's abrupt departure. Although she really didn't want to broach the matter with him or heaven forbid, cry on his shoulder, she knew he'd be inclined to blame himself for the problem. And the last thing Kaidan Alenko needed was another bad break-up story involving a woman, a turian and an impetuous, ultimately disastrous attempt at a rescue.

* * *

Seven hours later, Operation Shadow Team commenced in the chilly darkness of Auctorita's brief night. It was rare for Shepard to go out on a mission wearing so little armour. It gave her the uncomfortable sensation of wandering around bare-ass naked, although she was actually clothed in a stretchy black bodysuit and one of the four new tactical cloaks Kasumi had picked up in the Quorum markets. A dark ski mask stretched over her face, with holes gouged in the fabric for her eyes and a narrow slice at the bottom to accommodate her mouth. Aside from making her sweat, the mask was also very, very itchy to wear and as much as it made her feel like a slinky cat-burglar right now, she knew that when she pulled it off, her short blonde hair was going to be a damp mess plastered to her forehead.

Of course, there were more important things to worry about than whether she was having a good hair day. Such as how to work this tactical cloak without electrocuting herself.

She was the kind of girl who liked a nice, straightforward firefight – you know, kick in a door, stride in guns blazing and riddle batarian baddies with bullets before they managed to activate their preferred brand of WMD – and she was slowly discovering that she wasn't a natural at this whole 'stealth' thing. Despite the sound dampeners on her boots, she still had a tendency to go clunking around, flat-footed, like she had fifty pounds of plate metal strapped to her hide, a phenomenon that prompted an amused arch of Kasumi's eyebrows.

Kaidan just gave a worried gulp, his adam's apple moving under the neck of his black balaclava. The gleam in his eyes told her that he was wondering how she'd managed to talk him into this, that he was almost positive she was going to get them caught and ruin any chance of him keeping his shiny new Alliance rank.

Kasumi ventured ahead, crouching behind a scruffy topiary that'd once been trimmed in the shape of an animal. Craning her head back, she scanned the rooftops of the estate, looking for security cams or an easy point of access.

Tali pointed a gloved hand towards three scanners on the mansion walls. In the center of each device, there was an unblinking bead of red light. "New installation. Not just visuals. Heat readings."

The quarian scurried across the wet lawn to Kasumi's position and they conferred in a series of anxious whispers.

Jacob edged closer to Shepard. "What are they doing?"

Shepard shrugged, her thighs aching from half an hour of squatting in bushes or behind fences, trying not to talk or stumble over something or breathe too deeply. "Tech crap."

From behind his mask, Jacob's eyes appeared equally bewildered. "Not my scene."

Suddenly, the wall scanners shorted out, one of them quite spectacularly, showering a nearby guard with sparks. The guard stumbled out of the way, ducking the fireworks.

His companion gave a loud guffaw. "Nice. New equipment and it's already broken."

"That just ain't right," the other guard said, recovering his composure. "We gotta tell Severin this place is bloody falling down around our ears."

"Ha, you think he listens? If you're going to complain, talk to Amerantha. Woman knows what she's doing. Nicer to look at, too."

The other guard turned and started to tinker around with the scanners. His buddy just sighed. "Give it up. You're just going to kill yourself. And then I've got to patrol this place without your unique brand of slapstick comedy."

"Shut up."

She saw Kasumi gesturing at them to move eastward, while the guards were still diverted with their tech malfunction. Shepard used her omnitool to activate her tactical cloak, a burst of electrical energy simmering around her. Her body melted into the long shadow of a nearby cypress.

Slinking across the lawn, her lithe frame little more than a faint shimmer of particles, Kasumi led the infiltration team towards the eastern section of the mansion. By the time they reached the rough granite wall, Shepard's tactical cloak was starting to give. She dropped to her stomach in the damp grass, taking cover in a slight dip in the turf. If anyone had been looking for an intruder, they would've spotted the curved top of her head silhouetted against the lawn, but as far as she could tell, she blended well enough to fool any casual observer who might peek out of the manor's high-arched windows.

Kasumi launched a grappling hook towards a narrow balcony on the third floor. The hook landed against the edge of the black wrought-iron railing with a soft clink and she gave a tug at the end of the rope to make it catch. She scaled the wall with ease of a cat flicking its tail, as if gravity and all the laws of physics were just absurd fictions. Tying the rope around the railing, she secured the grappling hook again and gestured for them to climb.

Jacob was the first to go, mounting the rope hand-over-hand like a good Alliance marine.

Tali crept up behind Shepard. "I'm not going to do well at this."

"I can help you," Shepard assured her. "You can do it."

She gave her friend a boost on to the rope, steadying it with her hand as she showed the quarian how to use footholds on the wall and support her weight with her legs. Tali managed to shimmy several metres up, but her shoulders looked strained and her legs flailed at the rough stone, unable to push up her bottom half.

Her feet slipped back from the wall, kicking at air. Tali looked to the ground, giving a low whimper. "I can't, Shepard."

"You can. You're stronger than you think," Shepard hissed up at her.

"No, I really can't. My legs aren't even meant to bend this way."

Shepard gripped the rope with both hands, readying herself for a shaky ascent. "I'm coming up. I can carry you."

Kaidan stepped in. "The rope isn't strong enough. Let me help."

He looked up at the quarian. "Tali, do you trust me?"

"I – uh, yes, Kaidan, I do."

"Okay," he said. His brows knit together in concentration. "Please don't scream."

It wasn't the most reassuring thing to say to a terrified quarian hanging off a three-storey balcony, but the reminder to stay quiet was probably a good idea. Tali's cowering on the end of the rope was sure to attract unwanted attention and if she made too much noise, they were done for.

"Just let go of the rope," he instructed.

Tali peeled her fingers back from the rope. She hung in mid-air, suspended above the black stretch of lawn, and then slowly, very slowly, her body started to float upwards. It was impossible to see Tali's face behind the visor, but from the stiff stretch of her legs and the way her arms were quivering, Shepard could imagine her mental dialogue: _Oh Keelah, don't drop me, oh Keelah... _

Focussing, Kaiden directed the current of the mass effect field and manoeuvring Tali right onto the balcony. He placed her down as gently as if she'd soared up to the third storey on gossamer wings.

"Huh," Kaidan concluded, a relieved smile appearing through the slit in his ski mask. He was a modest guy by anyone's standards, but even he savoured biotic godhood once in a while.

Shepard smiled in relief, giving him a quick thumbs-up before she climbed the rope. As she worked her way up, she was pleased to find that her months of training on Arcturus' indoor obstacle course hadn't forsaken her yet. As mission commander, she felt the need to put on a good show, to prove herself a strong generalist in a squad of outstanding specialists. She dreaded the assignment when she would end up being the weakest link on the team, although she knew it would probably happen sometime. Actually, considering her distinct lack of stealth or sneakiness, tonight just might be her night to fall flat on her ass in front of everyone. What a pleasant thought.

By the time Kaidan joined them, the narrow ledge was getting very crowded. Somebody's elbow jabbed into Shepard's ribs and someone else's very cushiony butt kept rubbing up against hers, which was hopefully not intentional. While Kasumi decrypted security access to the balcony doors, Shepard scraped the grappling hook back from the railing, unknotted the rope and gathered it up for future use. If they needed to get out of a tight corner, the equipment would certainly come in handy.

Kasumi eased open the balcony door, thrusting an arm across the opening to prevent Jacob from just strutting across the threshold. She scanned the room, her face inscrutable beneath the shadow of her hood. The place looked innocuous enough to Shepard, just a leisure area converted to storage space, but the master thief didn't take any chances.

"Watch this," Kasumi whispered, removing a velvet pouch from her little bag of tricks.

Opening the pouch's drawstrings, she poured silvery powder into a long line across the palm of her hand, pressed her red-dotted lips together and blew. Dust scattered everywhere. Through the settling cloud, Shepard could make out a network of pink-orange laser beams slicing the darkness into an intricate geometry. She really hoped Kasumi knew how to make those things go away, because she felt as if she was setting off alarms just looking at them.

Jacob's jaw dropped. "Damn, girl. So how are we supposed to get past that?"

Kasumi smiled. "Very, very carefully."


	11. The Spectre's Ghosts

Shepard was just relieved that she wasn't the one who had to navigate the ridiculous maze of laser beams. No, she was happy to leave that all up to Kasumi and concentrate on keeping her mouth shut and her pistol trained on the doors leading out to the corridor. If anybody should wander in, she planned to aim for the gun-arm then the kneecaps and after that, they'd do the old bind-and-gag routine. It wasn't perfect and it probably wouldn't meet the Alliance's definition of 'political sensitivity', but it was a hell lot more diplomatic than a shot to the head.

While the thief weaved and ducked through beams of the security system, Tali was using her omni-tool to reference the map of the estate EDI had provided. She noted a few areas of concern, particularly what appeared to be a security stronghold and a staff living quarters and then pointed to a room on the far side of the corridor, one that had an anomalous heat signature depicted in undulating yellow splotches. From the grainy image, it appeared as if waves of energy were emanating from the walls while other parts of the structure were depicted as nothing more than hazy grey stains.

"That just looks weird," Tali muttered. "EDI must have made a mistake."

Shepard squinted at the map image. "EDI doesn't make mistakes. Optimal capacity, right?"

"AIs aren't infallible, Shepard. They aren't even trustworthy. My people know that better than anyone."

"Still, it wouldn't be a bad idea to check it out," she said.

Turning, Shepard saw Kasumi nearing the security console in the far corner of the room. Just as the thief stepped over a low beam, the configuration of lasers shifted, some lines of light disappearing and others shooting forward to replace them. Kasumi's mouth opened, panic in her eyes as she swerved to the side, dodging one laser and then dived to the floor, shimmying under another.

"Close one," the thief sighed, gingerly stepping over the last of the beams and into a safe zone. Dusting off her cloak, she indulged in a quick bow to her audience and then tried the general clearance password Tali had hacked from the Bureau's systems: "JaxDannilGoldVintage". Shepard's wide-ranging experiences in the galaxy's finer drinking establishments helped her to identify this as an expensive brand of turian liquor. She imagined Captain Severin had been responsible for choosing the passwords.

The laser beams gave a quick flutter and then the room dissolved into darkness again. Kasumi's hand motioned to them, inviting them into the storage space.

Shepard used the light from her omni-tool to illuminate the stacked boxes of Saren's old possessions, which Bureau officials seemed to have catalogued and inventoried. She pulled off the lid of one of the uppermost boxes and found neatly folded piles of turian clothes, mostly formal wear and camouflage for hunting, which said a great deal about the lifestyle of a famous Spectre. The high-necked turian attire reminded her of Garrus' clothing scattered across her bedroom floor, a rush of heady abandon as she tipped back another glass of red wine and crawled onto the sofa, laughing as she felt him pressing up behind her...

Angry at herself for getting distracted, she snapped the lid back onto the box and checked the one underneath. It was full of old holos, which surprised her. She'd never expected Saren to be the nostalgic type. There were a few faded images at the bottom of the box that appeared to have been taken a long time ago, perhaps even before Shanxi. There was an odd touch of sentiment to these pictures, which showed a gawky, bare-faced turian and a smaller one, a child, recognizable as Saren by the knife-like fringe and the stitched pattern of his mandibles. They were young and they almost looked friendly, posing outside what appeared to be silos, part of a colonial farm.

Most of the images were of an older Saren with a constantly rotating bevy of underdressed asari. Amongst these, Shepard espied a few images of Matriarch Benezia, looking a few years younger and a whole lot less indoctrinated by Reapers. In one, she was posing at some sort of benefit dinner with Saren, accompanied by not one, not two, but all three members of the Citadel Council.

Shepard gathered up all the holos of the matriarch that she could. Liara might like to have the ones that didn't have Saren in them. And the holo with the Council in it...well, it might be useful to put that one into safe-keeping, Shepard mused, just in case they ever tried to betray her. Councillor Velarn would get a real kick out of waking up one morning, flicking on Citadel Newsnet and seeing a giant picture of himself looking all buddy-buddy with the sadistic son-of-a-bitch who almost destroyed the galaxy.

"Um, Shepard?"

She turned. Kaiden was staring down at the contents of a bulky brown trunk.

"What is it?"

"Look for yourself." He stepped back from the trunk, trying to swallow his disgust.

Oh, she looked alright. And what she saw was enough to turn her stomach.

Atop a pile of exotic souvenirs and objets d'art was a necklace made of dried pieces of flesh – human fingers, toes, ears. It was impossible to know if it was Saren's own handiwork or if it was just a trinket he'd picked up from batarian raiders and taken a shine to. Still, it was a lovely reminder of Saren's feelings on humanity. She'd have to remember it any time she felt tempted to pity him.

She reached up and closed the lid of the trunk, locking down the gold clasps at its sides. "And that's why we needed to kill him."

The others had managed to avoid finding human remains, but they'd had little luck in discovering anything relevant to the Reapers. Fumbling around in the dark through loads of dusty boxes was discouraging work. Aside from the risks of detection, they didn't have enough time to examine every single box packed along the edge of the wide storage room.

Shepard crept over to the glass-plated door leading out to the hallway. She couldn't spot anyone from where she was standing. She slid the door open a crack and peered around the edge, catching a glimpse of a turian agent striding briskly down the hall.

Unfortunately, he saw her too. He reached for his gun.

Shepard pummelled his throat with the flat of her hand as she reached for his pistol.

He stumbled back, regaining his equilibrium for a moment, and swiped at her with his talons, struggling to regain control of his weapon.

This time, she decked him in the face, right under the mandibles, making his sharp teeth chatter together.

He thumped back against the carpet and she straddled his chest, prying the gun from his hand. She thwacked him with the butt end of it for good measure.

It wasn't until she started back into the storage-room, dragging his hulking body along by the heels, that the adrenalin faded and she realized how freaking painful it was to go around punching species covered in metallic plate. She stopped, giving her fist a little shake and fanning out her fingers to check the damage. It didn't feel as if anything was broken. She could still grip a gun, which was a distinctly good sign.

"Brought you guys a present," she said, showing her friends the prisoner. She tore off his boots and then the nylon socks that covered his big, clawed feet.

"Someone care to open the turian's mouth?"

The poor sucker was unconscious, but nevertheless, no one looked eager to risk those teeth.

"I'll do it," Jacob volunteered. He reached down and carefully prised open the turian's jaws, causing the grey mandibles to draw back like switchblades.

Tying the socks together at the bands, Shepard stuffed them into the guard's mouth then double-knotted the ends around the back of his fringe. Presto, change-o, one home-made gag. Probably a bit smelly, but it wouldn't kill him. She used the rope to bind up his arms and legs, making the ties nice and tight, before she and Kaiden dragged him into a corner.

With the guard out of the way, they ventured down the hall. The interior of Saren's mansion had an ornate creepiness that Shepard couldn't quite place. Maybe it was just the off-kilter mix of high-tech gadgets with antique contraptions, flat-panel vid screens with flickering gas-light sconces. Maybe it was the dead Spectre's presence looming over the place, her memory of the manic glitter in his eyes just before he blew his brains out and that robotic nightmare tore out of his corpse. Or maybe it was just the pesky security drones that kept zipping out of the shadows, always from the last place she'd expected. Gunfire or a blast of biotics brought them down without too much trouble, but, in the dark, they really gave her the creeps.

Many of the rooms had already been cleared out or were in the last stages of liquidation. The ones that were still intact had a haunted quality. The wallpaper was peeling off in long, curly strips and the carpets were splotched with stains that one could make out even in the dark. Some of the rooms contained hunting trophies, the heads of dead creatures mounted on the walls, their eyes replaced with glass beads that stared and stared, never blinking. Saren had been an avid big-game hunter. Even when he wasn't out being an evil Spectre, he'd still been out killing things. Shepard wondered why the guy couldn't just take a vacation once in a while - maybe play some Skyllian Five, smoke a cigar or think calming thoughts that didn't involve torturing sentients, sticking it to humanity or sucking up to the diabolical machine race intent on annihilating everything.

At the end of the hall, there was a grandfather clock stained the colour of dried blood. It ticked impatiently, swinging its sharp gold pendulum back and forth, to and fro, as if issuing a threat. The last room on the right was the one that had shown the anomaly, although for all intents and purposes, it looked like a simple study. There was a desk, an open safe, already emptied, and a full-length oil painting of Saren Arterius posed on a flight-board, hovering a few feet above lush green hillside. He rested a long hunting rifle across his broad shoulders, while a small pack of his favourite varren sat on their haunches, licking their chops. One corner of the room was dominated by a large vid screen.

Just over Saren's desk, there was a bulky security camera, but compared to the tech they'd encountered elsewhere, it didn't pose much of a threat. Tali overloaded the cam's circuitry with just a few taps of her omnitool.

Shepard headed over to the desk, sliding open each of the three drawers. There were unmarked data-files inside, but it was impossible to know if they were relevant to the investigation. She opted to take them all and let Legion sort through them later.

When she looked up, she noticed Kaidan and Tali examining the portrait on the wall. Like her, they'd seen Saren in the flesh and could comment on the quality of the likeness - which was pretty good, although the artist had exaggerated Saren's already imposing height and added a bit more space between his small, menacing eyes.

"Quite fond of himself, wasn't he?" Kaidan murmured.

Tali snorted. "It's not as if he had a face worthy of high art. I hope turians didn't find that attractive."

"They didn't," Shepard replied, without thinking. She was about to elaborate on facial markings and what makes for a nice arrangement of fringe when she realized that her audience was not going to appreciate this as a merely academic discussion.

"Check this out," Kasumi whispered, looking at a wall on the other side of the room.

Jacob tilted his head slightly, squinting at the spot she pointed to. "It's just a dent. Maybe somebody was getting violent in here?"

"No, silly," she said. "Look again. See that little black mark? The hole? And look, the paint's less faded. There was something hanging here. Somebody pulled it down."

Jacob ran his fingers over the mark. "A'ight, if you say so. I'm not gonna go challenging your expertise."

Shepard had an idea. She reached out, grabbing either corner of the heavy gold picture frame and lifted the portrait from the wall. Hidden behind the picture was a crawlspace about three feet high and two feet wide.

"Pay-dirt." Kasumi rubbed her hands together. "Hmm, I wonder if Saren had a treasury room full of goodies..." Her almond eyes glimmered, seeming to dance with visions of fine art, first-edition books, maybe a little weapons tech...

Kaiden crouched down, eyeing the hole in the wall. "I don't exactly like narrow spaces, but I guess we're about to find out."

"You have fun with that," Jacob said. "Me, I'm not crawling around in any dark, dirty tunnels unless there's something real good on the other end."

"But what if there's a priiiiizze?" Tali asked innocently.

Jacob snickered. "Okay, well, if you all find some booty, then I'll be right over. Otherwise, this here soldier is staying out. To stand guard."

"Alright, stay then, 'fraidy-cat," Kasumi teased. "We'll go down the big-bad tunnel. You just better be watching our backs."

Crawling through the tunnel wasn't as bad as Shepard had thought, although it was hard to imagine Saren doing this voluntarily, not unless he had something very interesting to hide. Of course, rogue Spectres tended to have lots of interesting things to hide, ranging from skeletons in the closet to fresh corpses rolled under the rug.

The tunnel opened into a small room. As Shepard stepped out, a generator whirred to life and a panel of fluorescent lights flickered on overhead.

That's when she saw the device, spiral-shaped purple tubes supported by long metal spikes. That's also the moment she saw the two enormous combat mechs unfold their heavy limbs and begin marching towards her.

In situations like this, stealth was not very handy. A rocket-launcher, on the other hand, would have been great.

The mechs started firing their machine guns, forcing her to duck behind the only cover available: the power generator. She crouched against the boxy metal structure, grinding her teeth together as she blasted out round after round, well aware that if the generator took too much heat, it would create a very impressive explosion – one that would fry her nice and crispy.

She could hear Jacob's voice echoing down the tunnel. "Hey! I'm coming in to help!"

"Stay back!" she shouted, unsure if he could hear her. Their problem wasn't strength or numbers – it was all about positioning and the last thing they needed was another person crammed into that crawlspace.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Kaidan and Tali peeping out from the edge of the tunnel, trying to distract one of the mechs. Their position was vulnerable, too. One rocket in that enclosed space might be enough to take out all three of her team members. She sincerely hoped Kaidan had been practicing his barriers since their last encounter on Horizon.

Shepard sprinted out of cover, one of the mechs stomping after her. Machine gunfire was hot on her heels and she was grateful that big clunky bots were such epically shitty shots. She raced towards the other mech, which was closing in on Kaidan at the tunnel entrance. The mech behind her sprayed out another round of bullets and she slid under the other's legs, letting it take the damage for her.

The damaged mech turned towards its counterpart as if suspicious, conducting a quick IFF scan. Kaidan seized the opportunity, shifting out of cover to throw out a stasis field. The mech froze in place.

Stumbling backward, Shepard aimed for the inactive mech's blocky head and fired until her clip was empty. A trail of smoke rose from the machine's over-heated systems. She shielded her face with the back of her arm, as the mech's control cluster exploded.

Squeezing into the tunnel to hide from the other mech's fury, she nearly knocked over Tali. Working with Kasumi, she was chipping away at the bot's defences.

The mech's shields were failing. Expending the last of its power, it raised its rocket launcher arm, carefully aiming for the tunnel.

"That isn't good," said Kaidan Alenko, master of understatement.

He threw up a barrier and everybody else just blasted the damned machine for all they were worth. The mech swayed back on its heavy feet, ever so gently, and the rocket fired.

Shepard ducked, throwing her arms up over head and trying to cover whoever was nearest and most exposed. There was a blast, the sound of rocks crumbling around them and she toppled over, feeling a warm hand clenching hers, someone's chest rising and falling underneath her.

"Everybody okay?"

"Ow. Hit my head. Going to be feeling that tomorrow," Kaiden said, pushing some debris off his chest.

He let go of her hand, looking a bit sheepish. "Sorry, Commander. Impulse."

Kasumi laughed. "Okay, who's feeling me up? I don't go in for that kind of hanky-panky."

"Oops." Shepard pushed herself off Kasumi's chest. "Sorry. Wasn't trying to steal second base."

Some rubble stirred behind her and Tali's purple visor poked through, coated in dust. She used the edge of her veil to clean it off.

Squinting back towards the secret room, Shepard saw the combat mechs lying on the floor amidst a pile of rubble. The fluorescent ceiling panel was still flickering slightly, probably a bit blinkered.

Crawling out of the tunnel, she circled the strange device, eyeing it from different angles. It didn't look like a Prothean beacon, but she could see some structural similarities to the indoctrination device they'd discovered in the mine on Aequitas. Thankfully, no one had turned into a husk yet. She really loathed getting swarmed by those things, their clammy corpse hands swiping at her face and static erupting from their fingertips. Blowing their heads off with a shotgun, on the other hand - that could be quite satisfying, as long as you didn't give too much consideration to the fact that they used to be people.

Whatever the device was, it radiated a reassuring warmth, waves of energy undulating around her as if she were wading into a tropical sea. It was trying to calm her, to put her at ease, but Shepard had seen enough of these sorts of things to know that this was a distinctly bad sign. She stepped back, warning off her teammates.

"I'm thinking it's some kind of mind control," she said. "Courtesy of the Reapers."

Kaiden frowned. "Creepy. It sure is burning off a lot of heat."

"Mind control...well, it would make sense," Tali said. "When Saren wasn't on Sovereign, he'd have been here. What better place to put an indoctrination device to keep him nice and docile?"

"Why would he build a room to keep it in? Why would he have arranged protect it?" Kaiden asked. "If I were him, I'd have tossed the thing out the window."

"This is the same guy who let Sovereign 'improve' him with implants," Shepard said. "Maybe he thought it was something he could use to make himself more powerful, something that would help convince the Reapers that he and the turians would make good allies. Who knows what lies Sovereign fed him."

She turned to Tali. "Is there any way we can shut it down without blowing it to bits?"

Tali stooped down, examining the wiring. "I could disassemble it, but some of pieces function on their own power sources and I don't know how to shut those down yet. Moving it could be dangerous, Shepard."

"Is there anything safe to salvage?"

"It's hard to say. I don't understand how it works or even what it does. All I can do is guess. And when you're guessing, 'safe' is a relative term."

"I think we should risk it," Shepard said. "It's been sitting here for a while and it hasn't made any husks. Maybe it's defective. Maybe it's just weaker. I'm guessing EDI can figure it out. The Council has been on my case from the beginning to prove there's Reaper tech. If I could show them something..."

"I don't like this, Commander. Who's to say what that thing could do? If it could mess with Saren, it could mess with us."

"We'll have it for a few days," Shepard said. "If EDI can't succeed in disabling it by then, then I'll blow it up. No questions asked."

"What if there's a virus in it? Something that could infect EDI?" Tali replied. "She's already...questionable."

"We had to risk that with the Reaper IFF too – we got through it and took the information we needed. It's a risk, definitely. But in my mind, the biggest risk that we can take is not getting the rest of the galaxy on our side. On our own, we don't stand a chance against the Reapers."

Tali sighed. "If you want me to do it, Shepard, I'll do it. I can take it apart. But I really hope you know what you're doing here."

Removing an assortment of tools from her utility belt, Tali began disassembling the mysterious device.

With the device parts stowed away, they headed back through the tunnel, meeting Jacob in the study.

"You okay? Why didn't you want me covering for you?" he asked.

"It was already a case of not much space and too many people," Shepard said. "Don't worry. I won't let you miss the next fight."

"What a relief. I was starting worry that my life wasn't going to be in danger."

Tali cast a dubious glance at one of the bags full of parts. "Don't worry, Jacob. There will always be plenty of danger to go around."

They were about to leave when the automated door slid shut, seemingly of its own volition.

Kasumi rushed over, trying to work it open. "Chikushou...System's locked down. It's going to take a couple more min –"

She was interrupted by the sound of the vid screen clicking on, showing the face of Captain Severin.

"Hello again! Commander Shepard, how nice of you to pay us a visit!" He took a sip of brandy, sloshing it around in his mouth as if he intended to gargle. "I must take exception to your method of entry, of course. I don't suppose it would have killed you to make use of the front door? I'm not very familiar with human customs, but we turians generally find midnight break-ins quite rude."

Shepard felt as if her heart was trying to bash its way up into her throat. She took a breath, considering her options, and decided it would be best to just brazen things out. Severin seemed to be the type of person who'd enjoy a little impertinence in his enemies, provided they listened to his lectures and didn't insult his taste in liquor.

"Yeah, sorry about that," she said. "Just testing your security systems. They seem to be in...very good condition."

"Well, I must commend your tech experts on their skills. They did a commendable job, although they missed the audio bugs. And my, but you and your friends have terribly amusing conversations! I must agree: Saren really wasn't much of a looker. The fringe was all wrong."

"Glad we could entertain you," Kaidan muttered.

"But where's my old pal, Garrus?" Severin asked. "I'm sorry not to see him. A real disappointment. Especially under these circumstances. Back in the old unit, he was always trying to get me arrested for something or other. It would've been great fun to slap the handcuffs on him. Strictly in a law-and-order sense, mind you. He's not my type."

"Why don't we work out a deal?" Shepard said. "You pretend you didn't see us and I'll owe you a damned big favour. I'm sure we can negotiate something."

Severin chuckled, dabbing at the sides of his mandibles with an embroidered handkerchief. "In the past, I might've been tempted. I am very fond of credits and all the very nice things that credits can buy. But it's funny - I seem to have become very protective of this old place. It has a certain pull, a peculiar magnetism, don't you agree? It irks me to think of people of poking around, taking things they shouldn't. By the by, what is it that you're carrying in those bags, Commander?"

"Spare parts."

"Hrm. Well, I think I should like to have them back. Yes, I expect they are rather essential. What do you say we arrest you and I just take -"

There was a shot and the side of Severin's head exploded, spattering the screen with blue blood. Behind the gore, Shepard could see the captain's lanky body slumped across the cushy leather chair.

A taloned hand picked up the handkerchief from his lap and used it to wipe off the camera lens, then prodded the corpse out of the seat.

Lieutenant Amerantha settled into Severin's chair, her mandibles giving a clack of satisfaction. "Much better. About time he shut up."

Shepard glared at her. "What the hell? Why did you -?"

Amerantha calmly returned her gaze. "I didn't do that. You did."

A fog of yellow-green gas started to pour in through the floor vents. The smell of bleach stung Shepard's nostrils. Chlorine.

She instinctively reached to her neck, fingers groping for her breather, but it wasn't there. Damn. She'd been reluctant to weigh herself down with extra gear. She hadn't planned for a lack of oxygen, not on a terra-formed world. None of them had.

They rushed towards the locked door, the humans coughing, choking, as they buried their eyes and their mouths in the fabrics of their ski-masks. Tali's exo-suit and her air scrubbers bought her more time, but not much. She was occupied in trying to hack the security lock-down.

Shepard's eyes stung and her legs wobbled beneath her. She steadied herself against the wall. No sitting down. No resting. It would only fuel the fire raging in her lungs and searing up her swollen throat. Chlorine is heavy. Chlorine masses at ground level and works its way up.

Amerantha's chilly voice rang out over the gasping, each word perfectly enunciated and fastidiously clipped off at the end. "It would be messy to kill you in-person. But don't fret. People will come by to pick up the remains. Goodbye, Commander."

The vid screen switched off with a hiss of static. The gas kept pumping through the vents.


	12. Missing in Action

Strangled coughs and low, breathless sobs. The sound of someone retching. The dull thump of a body collapsing to the floor.

Shepard's ski-mask was damp with her own saliva as she pressed the wool over her mouth, inhaling the black fibres. Her body was burning from the inside out in the yellow-green fog.

The sound of Tali's fingers jabbing at the screen of the door's security console. "Hang on," she gasped under the whirr of her air-scrubbers. "Almost...almost...got it."

The door whooshed open. Peeling the mask back from her skin, Shepard squinted through the toxic haze, running towards her fallen teammate. It was only when she stooped down over the prone body that she saw it was Kaidan. She felt a twinge of regret. He hadn't believed in this mission and yet he'd come anyway, out of duty, maybe even out of the vestiges of old loyalty. Now he was suffering for her choice.

Kaiden craned his neck back, pressing the top of his skull into the hardwood floor. He gasped like a hooked fish, his eyes twitching, blinking out hazy yellow tears.

Shepard grabbed him, hefting him up onto her shoulder and started to drag him towards the door. Jacob stumbled over and helped her to support him. When they reached the door, they nearly tripped over the threshold in their eagerness. Kasumi sealed off the room, still coughing and clutching at her throat.

They eased Kaidan onto the floor. Shepard pulled off her ski mask to use as a cushion for his head.

Kaiden sucked in a few breathes of good clean air, hacked them out and then inhaled again. Closing his eyes, he sighed, the frightening purple-red colour in his face fading to a dark pink that mottled his cheeks and throat. "I'm...okay. That was like...drowning...in a fire. Help me sit up."

Shepard put her hands on his shoulders to prop him up and he coughed again, spitting some mucus onto the floor. A few feet away, the grandfather clock gave two stern chimes.

"You sure you're alright?" she rasped.

He gulped, wiping a gloved hand across his mouth, then leaned forward, panting. "Yeah. Been worse. Shouldn't have let myself go down like that."

"I don't think you had much of a choice on that one."

"I want to get up."

His body swayed forward as he tried to stand up, but she clasped his shoulders, holding him in place.

"Sit tight for a minute."

He shrugged his shoulders, struggling against her grip. "It isn't safe here."

"Nobody's coming," Jacob assured him. "Not yet anyway."

Kaidan shook his head. "That turian officer. She said she was on her way."

"I'm okay, but the rest of you still need to recover," Tali said. "You stay. I'll check the hall."

Shepard wasn't sure she liked the idea of her scouting around on her own. "Don't go far. Be careful."

The quarian nodded. "Always, Shepard."

She crept to the corner wall, peeking around the edge of corner, and then snuck out into the next section of the corridor.

"I can get up," Kaidan insisted. "Just got to find my feet."

The man was bloody persistent when he got an idea in his head. Shepard rose clumsily to her feet, offering Kaidan her arm. He didn't take it. Instead, he fumbled for a minute, bracing his hands against the floor as he struggled to balance on wobbly legs. When he managed to stand, he gave a low sigh, his chest heaving.

"See. No problems."

It was then that Shepard heard the sound of boots tromping along the corridor. From the heavy footfalls, she could tell that more than one turian was heading their way.

Kasumi peered around the corner, whipping back into safety just in time to literally dodge a bullet. It flew past her shoulder, shattering the grandfather clock's glass casing.

"Actually I think we've got a problem," Kasumi said. "And that problem has got Tali."

A gruff voice came from the corridor. "Come out and give us what you stole, Shepard. If you surrender, we'll only arrest you. Turn you into the proper authorities. Otherwise, the quarian gets a suit puncture - one she won't recover from."

"Don't do it, Shepard," Tali said, shrill with fear. "They're crazy. They'll shoot everyone."

Kasumi edged aside and Shepard moved into cover next to her. Darting a glance around the wall, she glimpsed Tali, accompanied by three turian agents. One of them was holding a pistol to her head.

Even more interesting was what was coming up behind the agents, faster and quieter than she'd ever thought possible: a shaven-headed psychopath, a tank-bred krogan and one very pissed-off turian.

"New deal: you let Tali go and we walk away without killing you," Shepard suggested. "You should consider it."

"And why would we do that?" the agent asked.

His head blew open in a dark mist, his body dropping to the parquet floor.

"That's why," Garrus said.

The other two agents opened fire with assault rifles, but between Tali's combat drone and Grunt's ferocious bloodlust, they didn't stand a chance.

"Now that is totally nakama," Kasumi said.

Shepard stepped out of cover, still completely in shock. It was as if her brain was short-circuiting. It didn't make sense. Garrus had left the ship back on Palaven. Now suddenly he was storming Saren's mansion on Auctoritas.

Maybe the toxic fumes were making her hallucinate, but if she was going to freak out on poison gas and have a vision of Garrus, she didn't think her imagination would include Grunt, Jack or heavy weaponry. Well, okay, maybe some heavy weaponry. But not the other two.

"So...how's everybody doing?" Garrus asked. "Just wanted to check in. You know. See what was up."

Before Shepard could summon up an answer, Tali attacked the turian with a hug. "You came back! I knew you wouldn't leave and not say goodbye or anything. Keelah, I was so angry at you but now I'm not angry at all!"

Garrus patted her shoulders, gently trying to extricate himself from the embarrassment of getting cuddled by a quarian, one who seemed to be crushing the air out of his lungs. "Uh, yeah, good to see you. Also very glad you're not angry. Your shotgun - kind of scary."

"Hey, wait!" Jack said. "We show up here and save your asses, but he gets all the fucking glory? What the hell is that?"

Shepard smirked. "Jack, did you want a hug? Because, you know, I'm sure it can be arranged."

"Heh heh, do it!" Grunt said. "I want to see this."

Jack's hand went to her pistol. "Not one step closer, Shepard. A simple thank-you will just fine."

"Well, thank you then," Tali said. "I was happy to see you."

Shepard eyed Jack and Grunt sternly. "I appreciate the good timing, but I do remember telling you two to stay back at the ship."

"The ship?" Grunt bellowed. "You expect me to stay at the ship? When there are some perfectly good turians to kill? Not likely."

"Insubordinate? Definitely. But you can't fault them for enthusiasm," Garrus said.

Something about his blasé tone made Shepard suspect he'd definitely had a part in encouraging this 'enthusiasm'. She didn't think it was a coincidence that he'd come charging in with two of the most bloodthirsty members of her crew, the ones most likely to ignore her orders to stay back at the Normandy and help Miranda with maintenance work.

It made for an unlikely alliance. Under normal conditions, Garrus didn't go out of his way to socialize with an adolescent krogan or a hardened felon he gladly would've scoped and dropped if she'd strayed onto his old turf on Omega.

Kaiden approached them, still looking a bit wobbly. He cast a wary glance at Garrus, giving the turian nod of recognition. "We've got what we've come for. Let's get out while we still can."

Giving up on stealth entirely, they rushed through the corridors, swatting down security drones like flies. It wasn't until they reached the second floor landing of the spiral staircase that they encountered real resistance. Amerantha stood at the bottom of the stairs wielding an assault rifle. She was surrounded by more than a dozen guards and a pack of steel-collared fighting varren.

Shepard ducked behind the rails of the balustrade, sticking the muzzle of her sub-machine gun between the slats and rattling off rounds like a woman possessed. Two guards fell under the hail of bullets, while another floated through the air, at the mercy of Kaidan's biotics.

Varren pounded up the stairs, gnashing their teeth. As they approached, Shepard saw that their legs had been reinforced with cybernetics, implanted metal spikes protruding from their faces. They were fast, much faster than she had anticipated and she found herself doubling back on the stairs, striving to evade their snapping jaws as she shot at guards.

Shepard stumbled on a step and a varren leapt at her, tearing at her leg. She flinched as the creature's teeth sunk into her skin, feeling warm blood stream down her calf. She stomped on the varren with her boot, its fishy eyes going glassy with pain. She kicked it again, sending its body slamming into the railing and then put a couple bullets in it for good measure. Jack's shockwave pounded past her, sending three other varren tumbling down the steps.

Shepard shifted her weight onto her uninjured leg, bumping against Garrus, who'd positioned himself on the step above her. He had his assault rifle out and was intently watching a guard who'd taken cover behind a marble statue. The second the guard's head poked out of cover, a bullet sliced through his neck.

Garrus gave a dry chuckle. "It's nice to be back. I missed you. And all the good times we have together."

"I missed you too," she said, turning to spray another varren with bullets. "Not that I'm protesting, but I thought you'd decided -"

"I changed my mind."

She glimpsed a varren lunging for her. Before it could clamp its teeth around her arm, Garrus pumped two rounds into its head – tap, tap – as easy as if he was clicking through vid channels.

"Impressive!" she said, shooting him a teasing grin. "My hero."

He shrugged. "Well, you've always been mine."

It knocked the breath out of her, that beautifully off-hand little comment of his, and she couldn't muster up an answer. For all his awkwardness, his cynical moods, the tough-guy swagger, there were moments when Garrus Vakarian was capable of astounding sincerity, saying exactly the right thing at precisely the right second. There were times when he could still her heart with just a couple of words.

As her forces thinned in number, Amerantha started to take more risks, to emerge from behind her troops. Firing off her assault rifle, she shot down a crystal chandelier. It smashed over Grunt's head with a shrill tinkle of glass, and he collapsed on the floor, groaning.

Jack leaped over the banister in a blind fury, throwing out a misaimed shockwave. "I'll tear you apart, turian bitch!"

The attack rumbled past Amerantha, bashing a side-table to splinters and sending a coatrack clattering against the floor.

"Humans," Amerantha scoffed. "Filthy bare-faced apes." She fired a concussive round at Jack, busting through her barrier, then took cover behind a marble pillar.

"Shanxi was a good start," the turian continued. "But we shouldn't have stopped there. We should've bombed you repulsive creatures back into another stone age. We should have put you in zoos, where you belong!"

"Ouch," Shepard said. "I'm a little hurt."

Garrus popped a fresh heat sink into his rifle. "Want to play a game?"

"What sort of game?"

"Let's see who can shoot her first."

"Sounds like fun. What do I get when I win?"

"Who says you're going to win?" he countered.

Damn, she'd missed him.

She'd almost forgotten the competitions she used to hold with him, Wrex and Tali, including one frenzied tournament to see who could destroy the most geth in a week. Tali had shocked them all by taking the win and the bragging rights - although she didn't get to do much boasting about it nowadays with Legion onboard.

Shepard rushed down the steps, pausing only briefly to blast another one of those pesky varren, and then ducked behind the stair post. Leaning forward, she glimpsed the side of Amerantha's thigh, exposed as she struggled to counter dual attacks from Jack and Kasumi. She aimed and fired off two shots. Amerantha cringed, pulling herself deeper into cover.

Shepard chuckled. "Easy. I win."

"I meant a head-shot," Garrus protested, his gun trained on Amerantha's position. He narrowed his eyes impatiently, as if willing her to emerge from behind the pillar. "Wasting bullets on a leg is just sloppy."

"Don't go changing the rules now. You only said I had to shoot her."

"Okay, a compromise: the score's 1-0 for you. But a head-shot wins."

She was going to argue this, when their battle banter was interrupted by the ear-splitting roar of a charging krogan. "TURRRRIAANN!"

Grunt stormed towards Amerantha's shelter in a blood-rage, her bullets bouncing off his hide like wasp stings. His machine gun fired incendiary rounds, scorching the turian's armour and then burning into the plate beneath.

She yowled, stumbling backwards, flapping her arms against her torso in a vain attempt to extinguish the flames. It only succeeded in fanning them.

Grunt chuckled and showered her with another round of ammo. She dropped to the floor, writhing in agony, fire searing black paths over her metallic skin. Her body rolled slightly, still flaming, setting the antique table and one of the rugs ablaze.

Jack pumped her fist in the air. "Fry, bitch! Man, I want to see this place burn."

"That one was in your honour, Baldy," Grunt said. "No one insults my krant."

Garrus rested his gun on his knee, heaving a martyred sigh. "Damn. That bastard won the game and he doesn't even know it."

Shepard regarded the charred corpse and the victory celebrations Grunt and Jack were conducting in the midst of the bonfire. "Don't tell him. Believe me, it's better that way."

"Don't know why he was so pissed off," Garrus muttered. "She didn't even mention the genophage."

Flames spread across the carpets and climbed the curtains, blackening the heavy fabric. A sconce exploded, sending glass flying in all directions. Smoke rose in feathery grey trails, carrying a stench of burning flesh and fresh varren carcasses.

"C'mon, people! Let's go!" Shepard hollered, waving her team members out the door. She looked over her shoulder at the krogan and the convict, who were still frolicking in the flames, stacking bodies like campfire logs to fuel the fire. Trust those two to treat a massacre like a national holiday.

Glaring at the pair, she pointed to the door. "Get. Out. NOW!"

She must have sounded frightening because they listened without her having to stomp over and strong-arm them.

As he walked out the door, Grunt shook his head mournfully. "It figures. And we were just starting to have fun."

Black smoke billowed from the broken windows of the mansion, the last piece of Saren's legacy torched to the ground.

There'd never been a funeral for the rogue Spectre. Shepard didn't even know what had happened to the body – the few scraps of ridged skin and shrapnel that'd been left of it, anyway. Maybe this belated cremation, attended by his foes, was the best memorial Saren could've received for, a tribute in blood.

It was odd, but she found herself getting a little misty-eyed at the sight of the roof collapsing, tongues of flame darting up through the rafters. It was as if she was grieving him...or mourning the woman she'd been before Eden Prime, before the Prothean beacon and this whole damn mess.

In any case, she missed having just one really formidable enemy, a good old-fashioned megalomaniacal mass murderer like Arterius who she could thwart at every turn. By contrast, the Reapers were so massive, so unfathomable in nature and so systematic in their drive to commit galactic genocide that they made her show-downs with Saren seem downright quaint. But it was silly indulge in nostalgia, to drudge stuff up from a past life, the one that had ended before she'd even died. She turned away, relinquishing the memories to the fire.

As they strode towards the property gates, a varren came barrelling out of the bushes and lunged at Jack, pinning her to the lawn. Shepard raised her pistol to shoot it and her finger was gripping the trigger when she realized it wasn't intent on ripping the convict to shreds. In fact, it was licking Jack's freckled cheeks with its forked tongue. She recognized it as the albino varren Severin had said was his favourite, the one called "Harbinger".

Jack pushed the varren off of her chest, wiping its drool off her cheeks. "Get the hell off me, you crazy mutt! You think that's fucking cute? Huh?"

"Plug-ugly thing really seems to like you," Jacob said. "Hey ugly doggie, what's going on?" He reached over to pet the varren's ears and the creature gave a low growl.

Jack guffawed, her mouth widening into the most genuine smile Shepard had ever seen from her. Usually Jack's grins looked like silent snarls. "He's got the right idea. Cerberus, bad. Maybe I'll keep him around. Make him into a pirate dog. Teach him to rip out that Illusive bastard's lying throat."

Grunt nodded approvingly. "A dog of war. Yes, I like it. We will teach him to be worthy of our clan, to slaughter all our foes."

Jack wrapped a possessive arm around the bewildered varren. "We? Screw that. It's my dog. Hear that? Mine. Nobody else's. He chose me."

Shepard felt sorry for the varren. Getting caught in a tug of war between Jack and Grunt was something she wouldn't have wished on any creature. Well, maybe Councillor Velarn.

Jack looked to Shepard appealingly. "He's mine, right? I get to keep him."

"I don't think so."

"C'mon, Shep. Please? It'll be cool. He'll fight Reapers and shit."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Let me get this straight. That...thing...is going to take down Reapers?"

"Maybe with its odour," Garrus suggested.

Jack scowled. "Quiet, Narc! You've been back five minutes and you're already wearing out your welcome."

Shepard folded her arms over her chest. "If I let you bring that thing on the Normandy, are you actually going to look after it? Or are you just going to let it crap all over the engine room?"

God, hanging around Jack was starting to turn her into her mother. Her mom had given a youthful Jill almost the exact same line when she'd picked up a stray cat on Arcturus station. Of course, she'd been six at the time and she hadn't been allowed to keep it.

Jack sighed. "I'll take care of it. Alright?"

"Promise?"

"Yep."

"I want a serious answer on this."

"I solemnly fucking swear!"

"Okay."

Jack smiled again, poking the varren's snout with her finger. "I'm going to name you 'Miranda'. Like that? Oh yes, you do!"

Kasumi giggled. "Well, I like it."

Jacob just shook his head despairingly.

"If you call it 'Miranda' it's not coming on the ship," Shepard said. "I don't need that kind of trouble, thank you. Besides, it's already got a name. 'Harbinger'."

Jack shrugged. "Eh. Alright. That's kinda bad-ass."

She petted the varren and its ugly pink eyes stared up at her adoringly. "Hey Harbinger. Hey Bing. Let's go back to the Normandy and piss off the cheerleader. Good plan, huh? I think so."

As they walked back towards the ship, Garrus sidled over to Shepard. "I don't know, Jill. Giving the crazy con a varren? I think that might end up biting us in the ass. Perhaps literally."

"Us? Did I hear that correctly?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I was hoping..."

Her eyebrows lifted expectantly. She didn't plan on making this easy for him. "Go on. You were hoping?"

"Maybe this isn't the best place to talk about it," he said. "But I'd like to. Talk. If you're willing."

She nodded. "I'm willing to listen."

"I'm glad. That's all I can ask," he said. "So, how was Saren's house? Did you find what you were looking for?"

She glanced down at her bag full of plunder, evidence to sway the Primarchs. She looked back at him, still surprised that he was walking alongside her with his usual assured stride, as if nothing had changed, as if he'd never left. Every so often his arm would brush against hers, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of her hand.

"Maybe I did," she murmured. "Maybe I have."


	13. A Place Like Home

Shepard sprawled out on a gurney, flipping through the tattered June issue of Fornax while Dr. Chakwas stitched up the varren bite on her leg. She wasn't sure how the magazine had travelled down from the briefing room to the infirmary. It seemed to have a mysterious way of moving around, as if it grew little hermit-crab legs and went skittering around from room to room, although no one except for Kelly and Mordin would admit to having actually touched it. Judging from the number of coffee stains on the pages featuring asari, however, she was pretty sure that Joker had been into it on repeated occasions.

She tried to turn to the next section of one of the magazine's shoddily-written features, a how-to article on dealing with life-span differences in interspecies relationships, but the glossy pages stuck together at the corners.

It was only then that it occurred to her – ew.

Maybe it was just coffee. Still, she wasn't taking any chances - she plunked the issue back down on the bottom tier of the gurney and searched around for some hand sanitizer.

Chakwas handed her a tissue damp with disinfectant and Shepard scrubbed her hands vigorously.

"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to realize that, ahem, periodical, is unclean. In more ways than one."

Shepard felt her face get hot, her skin flushing. "I think we need some new reading materials down here. Maybe some self-help literature...or uh, Reader's Digest or something."

The doctor gave a quiet chuckle, wrapping some gauze around Shepard's upper calf muscle. "Oh that would be very dull. Like being in colonial med-clinic. It's much more interesting to wait and see who will pick that thing up."

"Anyone surprise you?" She was hoping to get dirt on some team members, particularly the ones who'd ragged on her over the whole lusting-over-a-turian thing. If she could prove that Grunt had a filthy thing for hanar, maybe she could get him to shut up about her own unusual inclinations.

"I'm not breaking doctor-patient confidentiality for a little gossip, Commander. If you wish to catch on your gossip, I suggest you go see Ms. Chambers. That's her area of expertise."

"Okay, question - does Kelly really have a psych degree? I've never even heard her use a clinical term. She just talks about how she loves...well, pretty much everyone."

"Apparently she has her Masters in Forensic Psychology from the Henley Technical Institute. Perhaps not the most reputable of institutions," Chawkas said, careful not to say anything outright cruel.

Mordin, on the other hand, had openly questioned Kelly's credentials as therapist, arguing that someone could understand psychology if he or she had a deep physiological knowledge of the brains of every sentient species. He said he'd only give credence to Ms. Chambers' claims of being able to empathize with other organisms when she had performed successful exploratory surgery on a patient's limbic system and could present him with evidence. Personally, Shepard was not going to let Kelly get anywhere near her head with a scalpel.

"In any case, you're all mended up," Chawkas said. "No need to hang around here. I haven't anymore Serrice Ice Brandy."

Shepard eased her body up into a sitting position and then reached down, pulling her pant leg over the fresh new bandage. A cut on her left wrist and a bite on her right calf. Gotta love symmetry.

She slid down off the gurney and smiled at the silvery-haired doctor. Sometimes Chawkas reminded her so much of her mom. They didn't really look alike and the physician's clipped British accent was miles away from Hannah Shepard's Texas drawl, but there was something similar in the crinkled softness around the eyes, the determined lines around the edges of the mouth. Shepard still hadn't seen her folks since her mystifying return from the dead. Pretty soon she was going to have to rectify that.

"Thanks," she said.

"It's my pleasure, Commander."

Shepard trudged through the med bay doors. She found Garrus pacing around outside, his boots beating against a steady rhythm against the ship deck.

"Jill, do you have time for that talk?"

She smirked, unable to resist the opportunity to give him a hard time. "Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some calibrations."

"Ha, yeah. Guess I kind of deserve that."

"Alright, c'mon," she said, tilting her head in the direction of the elevator. "This is a discussion we should be having upstairs."

They stepped into the elevator and she pushed the green button for her personal quarters. The doors slid shut and he reached for her hand. Shepard let him take it, but left her fingers limp in his grip. She hated the fact that she'd forgiven him before he'd even bothered to apologize. She didn't want it to be this easy for him to waltz back into her life. Kaidan had walked out on her and she'd been furious, even vengeful – ignoring the message he'd sent her, deleting the holo of him from her desk, avoiding any mention of the man unless someone asked about him. She couldn't muster up the same indignation when it came to Garrus. She was just too relieved to see him. To be angry felt like gross ingratitude, as if she were tempting fate to snatch him away again.

"I made a mistake, Jill. I came back to make things right."

"I'm not angry," she said. "Just – confused. I mean, how did you even get here?"

"I radioed Joker, told him I wanted to come back. An hour later, Miranda came down in the shuttle to pick me up."

That didn't sound right. "Miranda?"

"Yeah."

"Just to be clear: Miranda _Lawson_? The woman everybody wants to name their pet varren after?"

"The same one. It surprised me too. Always figured she hated my guts."

The doors peeled open. Prying her hand back from his talon, she walked towards her apartment. She pressed her palm into the security scanner and stepped inside.

Garrus followed her in, his pale eyes scanning the room as if stunned anew by the lavish appointments: the blue-lit aquarium speckled with tropical fish, the plush leather couch, the appropriately queen-sized bed, its sheets folded with military correctness. Shepard had always liked her place, but after he'd walked out of it that night, it had lost much of its glamour. When he wasn't around, she felt as if it were a hotel room, a pristine anonymous space she could sleep in but couldn't inhabit. Every piece of furniture had been evidence that he was gone, a dozen empty spaces he wouldn't sit or lie or stand, objects that he wouldn't use or look at or touch. Even the room's spaciousness had mocked her and breath she took seemed to have an echo.

"When you left – all I can say is that it hurt like hell," she told him. "You just disappeared. And now you're back, just as suddenly. It's hard to get my head around."

Garrus perched on the arm of the couch, bending his long legs to keep them from banging into the coffee table. "Yeah. I guess so. I didn't know it would go this way. When I chose to leave, I realized it was going to be bad. I thought I could stick it out."

"What did your dad say? I take it you must've gone to see him."

"I stood around his building for a while. Trying to make myself go up there. Got about as far as the stairs. Figured it was just...nerves so I went over to the Legionnaires' headquarters instead. I managed to fill out half the re-enlistment forms before I walked out of the office."

"So you never spoke to him?"

"No. It's probably best he doesn't know I...wavered. Now he'll just think I don't give a damn. Maybe he'll give up on trying to change me. It's better this way. I can't be – the son he wanted."

She gave his shoulder a nudge. "C'mon, Vakarian. Move your ass over."

He shuffled to the side a few inches and she squeezed in beside him, wrapping an arm around his back. His armour felt cool against her skin, its metal edge digging into her elbow.

"I'm glad you're back. The Normandy wasn't the same without you. I wasn't the same. Can't picture myself going into hell with anyone else."

He rocked forward, giving a raspy chuckle, clutching at his side as if he'd just taken a bullet. "Yeah, well, hell isn't half bad when you're around. I'm actually starting like it."

She looked at him, her lips narrowing as she strove to be solemn. It was serious, no matter how much he wanted to brush it off or turn it into one of their little games. She'd feel much better if she knew that he wasn't making another impulsive choice, the kind he seemed to favour, rushing headlong into something he was going to regret. Damn, it was wonderful to be able to sit beside him again, to hear his reassuring voice and the soft rumble of his laughter. She hated that it had to come at a cost. Maybe there was still some way to salvage the situation.

"You're my best friend," she said. "I don't know if I ever told you that, but I'm getting around to it now. And, Garrus, I want you to be happy. Even if it means making myself miserable for a while. I just want to be sure that you know what you're doing here."

He glanced at her. "I know what I'm doing. This is where I belong. It's the only place I've ever belonged. But give me some clarification here: Best _friend_?"

"Yeah," she said. "That surprises you?"

"Let's put it this way: Wrex is my friend. Tali – also a friend. You, Jill, are a hell of a lot more than a friend."

"I didn't mean just a friend. Of course, there's more to it than that, but that other part of the equation - we're both still trying to figure that one out, I think."

"Maybe you are. I know what I'd like to see happen."

"If you know what you want, then tell me."

"I want us. I want this." His hand trailed down her neck and over her collarbone, fondling her breast. "Like old times."

Shepard put her hand over his, shifting his touch upward so that he could feel her heart hammering against her chest. "Like old times, huh? You're going to have to be a lot more specific. Just for once, I'd like to know what you're thinking."

"Right now? That I'd really like to get you laid out on that coffee table."

She shook her head. "That wasn't the answer I was looking for."

"Sorry. I'm not good at this stuff."

That excuse again. As if being a – she was going to say 'human being' but that was inaccurate – an emotionally healthy sentient (much better) was an optional talent, like juggling or riding a unicycle, something admirable but fairly impractical, compared to, say, executing perfect head-shots and cracking intergalactic drug rings.

"You're not good at this 'stuff'. Well, then maybe you should go down to the gunnery bay and do some calibrations. On your head. Because you don't just get to come in here and start everything back up like you never left. I deserve better than that."

Garrus rose to his feet, taking a few steps towards the aquarium. At first she thought he was actually going to walk out the door, maybe leave her with a witty riposte about the calibrating he'd be doing, but instead he stopped, seemed to think better of it. He watched a silvery triangle of fish flit through the seaweed, his body outlined by the soft blue light shimmering through the water. "Look, this isn't easy for me to say. It's easy for me to feel, but the talking ties me up in knots. I guess I just hoped that you'd know it."

She sighed. She hated having to interrogate him about his feelings. It made her feel like such a...girl. Or rather, the kind of girl that she didn't want to be. Of course, Kaidan used to get all sappy on her and she'd found that hard to handle too. Maybe she was just hard to please.

"I'm not a mind-reader, Garrus."

He turned, his right eye watching her, showing his scarred cheek and the stark lines of his profile. "It's too bad. It would make this a lot more convenient."

"Can the jokes. Please. Just for a minute. You said you wanted to talk to me. Well, say something real."

Garrus nodded. "Alright. A while ago, if somebody'd asked me what I cared about, what meant the most to me, I would've said justice. Wouldn't have even had to think about it."

He looked back at the fish tank, bowing his head, giving her the broad barricade of his back. "And then you were - gone - and everything all went to hell. Justice didn't mean a damn thing anymore. What I wanted was vengeance. I wanted it bad, so bad I couldn't sleep. Just walked the streets. Had to force myself to eat. You think vengeance is gonna taste good and while you're working at it, thinking about it, it does. Then it's over and the bodies are lying there. You can't give them any more punishment. It should be right, but it's not enough. It's a mouthful of dust. And then you go back, because you hope the next time will be better, that somehow it's going to pay-off."

"I'm sorry about that. I know a lot of things have gone wrong."

Garrus shook his head. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I just want to explain. It's taken me a long time to work this stuff out. Jill, what I love - it isn't justice and it isn't revenge. What I love – well, actually, it's you."

"Garrus, please just look at me a second."

He looked back at her hesitantly. "Yeah?"

"Come closer."

He edged forward. "Look, if I just made you uncomfortable, that's not what I was shooting for...you don't have to say anything. I'm not expecting you to change anything."

"Just a little closer, please."

He obliged her by taking two more steps, until he was standing directly in front of her.

She leaned forward, whispering, "I love you too."

His mandibles opened as if he was struggling to draw breath. "That's...very good to hear." His hands wrapped around the back of her neck and her cheek pressed against his stomach, skin against armour. "You make saying it look so easy. You have to show me how you do that."

She tilted her head back, looking up at him. It was strange to see him divested of the Kawashi visor that had always obscured his left eye. Without it, he looked different, his face suddenly open and vulnerable.

"Words are nice, Garrus. I won't lie about that. But actions mean a helluva a lot more. That's why when you say 'love', I can believe you."

"Action – I can do that. It's the other stuff that's more difficult. But I can work on that."

"You're going to do some more research?" she teased.

"Something like that."

He paused, eyeing her face. "I'm sorry about the way I left."

An apology. Finally. It was a cautious one but at least he'd done it of his own volition. That was a start. And truthfully, she couldn't picture him pleading and grovelling for her forgiveness, as much as it might amuse her. He had his own rules and his own notion of dignity and she had to respect that. After all, it was one of the reasons she loved him.

"People around here missed you. It would've been nice to give them a goodbye."

"I'm aware that it wasn't the most...polite thing to do," he said. "I did it that way because if I'd waited around 'til you were awake, I don't think I could've walked out the door."

One of his hands moved up her neck, brushing over her jaw, and cupped the curve of her cheek. Her mind flashed to the hours they'd spent together before the Omega-4 Relay and how unexpected it was when he'd let her touch the scarred side of his face. He'd always made jokes about the scars, but the truth was, she knew that they'd hurt his vanity, made him self-conscious. But when she run her fingers across the rutted side of his cheek, let her palm linger after the ruined flesh, he hadn't cringed away and damn, she'd found that trust sexy.

"I found the gifts you left me," she murmured. "They're still in your room."

His hand slid away from her cheek, combing back through her hair, a texture that seemed to fascinate him. His mandibles contracted into what might have been a frown, a look of worry. "I saw. You should've taken them."

"If I took them away, the room would've been empty."

"Well, you should take them now, Jill. They're yours."

"That's your favourite gun."

He shrugged. "I liked it, yeah, but it's not like I'm obsessed with it. I didn't give it a name or anything crazy."

"Don't lie to me. You love that thing."

"Love is way too strong a word for something like that," he corrected her. "But yeah, I'll probably ask to borrow it once in a while. You know, when I'm out killing something really important."

She wasn't sure when the notion occurred to her, whether it was just an impulse or if it was something that she'd been toying with the back of her mind ever since their affair became public knowledge. She'd certainly been watching him, evaluating his domestic habits, noting the way he'd pick up his clothes off the floor and fold them in neat pile or how often he used her bathroom and forgot to put down the toilet seat.

"Are you going to move back into that room?" she asked. "Because when I was in there, it occurred to me that it's very small. The bunk is bloody narrow. And it can't be long enough for you. I bet your feet hang off the end."

"Yeah, it was definitely made for a human. But hey, I'm not picky about accommodations. It's a lot better than when I was crashing out in the Mako."

"You were sleeping in there?" She gave a disbelieving laugh. "Garrus, I know the old Normandy was small, but it did have dorms."

"You're forgetting that my roommate was Wrex. Who snored, slept with a missile launcher and on occasion, had vivid dreams involving the Krogan Rebellions. I wasn't getting a whole lot of shut-eye in there."

Shoot, she should've known better than to let Pressly manage the room assignments. He'd been a brilliant navigator and in most respects, a thoroughly decent man, but his suspicion of aliens hadn't given him much cultural sensitivity. He'd probably created segregated quarters, putting humans in one section of dorms and crowding everyone else into the others, regardless of whether their species had been involved in centuries-long feuds.

"You should have told me. I would've arranged to move you somewhere else."

"I wasn't going to bother you. You had enough on your mind."

She smiled at him, trying to quell the nervous feeling squirming around in her stomach. She didn't know what she had to be so worried about. Either he'd say yes or they'd just keep on with the status quo. It wasn't as if she was asking him to relocate across the galaxy – and she'd done that a couple of times already.

"Anyway, I guess what I was trying to ask you..." she paused, swallowing her trepidation like a pill, "...is if you might like to move up here. With me."

"Into your room?"

_No, into the hall outside,_ she thought. He could pitch a camp out there and wait 'til she radioed him for sex. Tactical genius aside, sometimes Garrus could be a bit slow on the uptake.

"That was the idea," she said. "It's just a suggestion. I don't want to force it if you think it's going too fast."

"It's an enticing offer."

Her eyes widened. It was hard to conceal the hopefulness in her voice. "Is that a yes?"

"Yeah, definitely," he said. "How could I refuse? These are some stylish digs."

"Alright, great." She gave him a too-wide grin and then felt embarrassed at her eagerness. It wouldn't be a good idea to have him think she was pushing things, going all domestic on him. Maybe it was best to play it off, to keep things light. "So you think you could feed my fish? Maybe clean the tank out every so often?"

He snorted. "And there's the catch. I knew it was coming. Did you ask me to live with you just so you could sucker me into taking care of your pets?"

"It wasn't the _only_ reason," she said. "But if you want to help out, it would be really nice. I always end up forgetting about them and then they die. It's very traumatic."

When he laughed, his mandibles pulled back, exposing a few sharp teeth. "Weren't you the one giving a Jack a big lecture about taking responsibility for her pets..."

"I'm a hypocrite, alright? A fish-killing hypocrite."

"Just wanted to hear you say it," he said. "But yeah, I'll make sure your fish don't go belly-up."

"Thanks."

"Don't let everyone know I'm doing it though. They'll start making smart-ass remarks about how you've got me whipped. And I've got a reputation to keep up."

* * *

As Shepard approached Miranda's office, she could hear the strains of a violin playing in the background, the plaintive sound of a drawn-out note, then a spine-tingling ascent of the scale broken by an elegant trill. There was something exquisitely painful about it, like a hundred razor cuts followed by a slow bleed.

She knocked on the door. "Miranda?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a minute?"

Miranda's voice was lower than usual, lacking her tendency towards careful diction. "I'm working."

"I just want to -"

"I told you: working." She sounded annoyed.

_Screw this_, Shepard thought._ I come by to say something nice and she won't even listen to me. I'll bet when the Illusive Man asked for a chat, she would've snapped to bloody attention. _

She opened the door.

Miranda looked up from her desk, her plucked brows lifting into perfect arches. There were fresh black smears of mascara under her eyes. "What the - ? Do you have any notion of privacy, Commander?"

"I warned you, I wanted to talk. Are you alright?"

Plucking a tissue from the dispenser on her desk, Miranda dabbed at the delicate skin below her eyes. "I'm absolutely fine."

"You're sure about that?"

"Positive."

"Because if I didn't know better, I might think you were upset. Or exploring an unusual, new make-up look."

The last comment almost managed to rouse a smile out of her and she wiped at her eyes again. Miranda was very precise about her appearance and never left her quarters without a carefully applied mask of make-up.

"The music gets me a little teary on occasion. Nothing more than that."

"What song is it?"

Shepard's musical knowledge was limited to her dad's old rock and R&B albums and the techno tracks that half-naked asari danced to in every skeezy dive bar from Alpha Draconis to Omega. She thought classical music sounded, well, classy, but a lot of it went right over her head.

"Bach's Violin Sonata No. 1 in G minor. First movement. Oriana is very fond of it."

"Something you have in common."

"Yes, I suppose so," she said. "But you didn't come here to discuss my taste in music."

"No, actually, I came here to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"Garrus told me what you did. I appreciate you going down there and picking him up."

"Routine extraction, Commander. We've performed those procedures dozens of times before." Miranda paused, her dark blue eyes widening. "Besides, perhaps I understand what it's like to give something up and then regret it."

Shepard wasn't quite sure what Miranda was alluding to. Oriana? Jacob? Niket? She certainly hoped it wasn't Cerberus and the Illusive Man. She'd always had the uncomfortable feeling that Miranda used him as some kind of twisted father surrogate. Either that or maybe he'd been a lover, the sophisticated older man, although it was thoroughly creepy to picture TIM enjoying a post-coital cigarette.

"I just wanted to say thanks, Miranda. What you did - it meant a lot. I'll let you get back to your work." She turned away, the sonata swelling, the desperate sound of the violin knifing into her back.

"Actually, I was wondering if I might get your input on something," Miranda said. She clicked off her sound system. "I was thinking - do you believe it's possible to rectify a bad first impression?"

Shepard paused just inside the doorway, mulling this over. It was such a funny question to hear from Miranda Lawson, she of the faultless genes and impeccable resumé. She'd never seemed the least bit interested in what anyone thought of her, provided they were fully convinced of her unwavering competence and aware that she'd do just about anything to accomplish her goals.

"I think there are ways to change people's opinions. If that's what you're asking."

"In a way, yes, I suppose it is."

"Is this just a hypothetical question or is there something more to it?"

Miranda hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. When she caught herself at it, she ceased the behaviour immediately, as if her creator's reprimands were still echoing around in her head.

"I'll admit that I would like to be more integrated in the team. Purely for the purposes of operational effectiveness, of course. I'm just concerned that it might be something of a losing battle. After all, they still perceive me as representative of Cerberus. And many of them seem to resent my authority."

Or really, the airs of authority that she liked to put on. On the Normandy, when it came to honest-to-god brass tacks authority, Lawson had about as much clout as Kelly. It wasn't because she lacked competence or even a certain smug, cat-ate-the-cream charisma – it was because she ran around condescending to and pissing off everyone she was supposed to be leading.

"When you first met me, Miranda, what did I look like?" Shepard asked.

Miranda raised an eyebrow, seeming to doubt the relevance of this question. "As Jacob so tactfully put it, you were just 'meat and tubes'. Thankfully, I can assure you that your personal appearance has improved a great deal."

Shepard wasn't sure whether this was intended as a compliment, but she decided to interpret it as such. "But I'm guessing I didn't make a very good first impression."

Miranda offered her a tight-lipped smile. "Not particularly. Although you've made up for it somewhat since then."

"So your opinion of me changed? From the first time we 'met'?"

"There have been some alterations. Yes."

"Okay, then. I think you just answered your own question."

She nodded. "I suppose there are certain possibilities. Ones that I haven't considered."

"And I think you owe it to yourself to consider them," Shepard said. "Anyway, I hope you'll feel better soon."

Miranda bent forward in her chair, pretending to search for something in her files, although Shepard was almost certain that she was just trying to look busy, to hide her face behind her formidable desk. Hopefully, while she was 'working', she would actually think about pursuing some friendships on the team, ones that extended beyond her complicated bond with Jacob.

Shepard walked out of the office and then took the elevator up to the command deck. When she reached the cockpit, she found Joker with his feet kicked up on the side of EDI's console, drinking a beer while he surfed the 'net. When he noticed her coming, he couldn't seem to figure out what to do first: hide the bottle or delete his browsing history.

"Joker?"

"Yo." He gave her a mock salute.

"Are you drinking and piloting? Because I think that's against the law. And from the looks of things, we'll be docking on Palaven in fifteen minutes."

"ETA is seven minutes, actually," he said. "And simmer down, Commander. I'm barely buzzed. I've piloted the Normandy a lot drunker than this."

"That's reassuring."

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," he said. "So I hear Garrus is back. And that Jack has a pet varren. I don't know which is more frightening."

She was amused by how he completely glossed over his role in the turian's return. That was a vintage Joker move. Of course, if she'd failed to thank him and then praise him to the skies for his latest feat of helmsmanship, he would have bitched like no tomorrow.

"Did you hear about the Reaper mind-control device?" she asked.

"EDI mentioned it. I think it's giving her a bit of an inferiority complex."

EDI materialized on the console, casting soft blue light on the dirty soles of Joker's socks. "I have nothing to feel inferior about, Jeff. I am in the process of analyzing the device and it is merely machinery, whereas I am a fully functional intelligence."

She paused, waiting a beat. "In addition, would you please remove your feet from my console? While I am only programmed to receive audio-visual input, I suspect they have an unpleasant odour."

Joker made a face, but slid his feet off the console. This was definitely a sign of his exponential increase in affection for the AI. Previously, he would've been more likely to hang his dirty socks right over her station; maybe even use them to obstruct her lenses. "You see what I mean? She's all touchy. Definitely feeling threatened."

"What have you discovered, EDI?" Shepard asked.

"Tali's initial theory about the device seems to be correct. It is a technology created for indoctrination purposes, although it exerts a subtler influence than other mind-control techniques we have encountered."

"So it won't turn us all into crazy husks, right?"

"Perhaps if you lived with it for several decades," EDI said. "But no, it is not intended to be debilitating. Rather, it seems to have been constructed as propaganda, similar to your human advertisements - although much less obnoxious."

Joker frowned, taking another gulp of his beer. "So standing next to that thing is like watching an infomercial for Reapers? Shit. Well, if it starts trying to sell me a juicer, I'm tossing that thing out the airlock."

Shepard opted to ignore this and get a serious answer out of EDI. "What kind of effects do you think it would have?"

"I am still in the process of analyzing it, but I would imagine that it would be intended to slowly ease organics' innate suspicions about synthetic forms of life. This might start as subconscious urges, perhaps an extreme attachment to the device and the aura it emits, a desire to possess and keep it. Eventually, it might manifest itself as an interest in cybernetic modifications or other artificial enhancements."

"I noticed that the agents at Saren's estate were experimenting on some of his varren, adding tech implants to make them faster and better in combat."

"That would be consistent with what I have noted thus far," she replied. "The mechanism was probably originally meant to make Saren and his followers more pliable when they were not in direct contact with Sovereign."

"Do you think it would be dangerous to keep this thing as evidence? Is there something that we can use here?"

"As I said, I still in the early stages of analysis, but yes, I believe that Mordin and I may be able to find something useful to present to the Primarchs. The project, however, will affect ship functions."

That didn't sound good. EDI was more 'human' and humane than most AIs Shepard had encountered, but she'd retained one of the most irritating habits of synthetic life: understating and consistently underestimating the dangers posed to organics. "Give me a worst-case scenario here."

"Supposing that you kept this device for four days in its current state, I would expect to see unusual behaviour from the crew, consistent with altered thought patterns," EDI said. "Those working in close contact with the machine may demonstrate early signs of possessiveness and a notable reluctance to part with it. There may also be unsettling visions experienced while in the unconscious state, what you organics refer to as dreams."

"Dreams...or nightmares?"

"Perhaps both. The distinction is a subjective one."

"What would these dreams involve?"

"I cannot predict this, Shepard, as I do not dream. Perhaps you will be able to inform me. I would be most interested to learn."


	14. A Time to Every Purpose under Heaven

_The swarm swirls around her, twitching wings and a senseless droning in her ears. They are skittering up her legs and down her arms, bumbling against her face. A stinger plunges into her neck and then another jabs into her side. _

_Her body is paralyzed, only her eyes moving, lids held open as if by clamps. She watches the other colonists run in busy little circles trying to escape what is necessary, what is inevitable. She pities them. They do not understand that they have purpose, that they need not be so alone or so afraid. They will all be incorporated._

_They sew her into the chrysalis. She used to fear being sealed up in that sacred darkness, embalmed, mummified, her organs weighed on black scales, her body racked by the impending transformation. But she has died once before and this is not much different._

_The ascended Protheans place her inside the steel cage of the Reaper's body, now her own. She has impressed them enough to earn a separate destiny, a more intimate torture. She will sit at the center of the spider's web, hanging like a drop of black blood. The voice. The queen. Inside the ribs of the Reaper, her throne. _

_When they close the gates, they are gentle. They do not wish to cause her unnecessary pain, although transcendence always hurts. Every god must die on his cross. _

_The Reaper clasps her to its heart. They will never be parted._

"Jill, I'm right here. You're safe. Jill, wake up!"

Shepard's eyes shot open. Garrus' arms were locked around her in a tight embrace, trying to still her frantic, clutching hands. Her body trembled, electrified.

"What happened?"

"You had me worried there," he said. "You were dreaming something. Hopefully not about the Krogan Rebellions."

"A dream," she repeated.

She wanted to convince herself of that. Some part of her still doubted that she was in this comfortable room with someone she loved and trusted, tucked safe under her blankets. It seemed possible that she had constructed this safe haven in her mind and that, on an alternate plane, her body was still suspended inside the immortal cage, the gears grinding chaff around her for eternity, as she sowed and reaped. The place at the center of a Reaper. They thought it was an honour. She thought it was like wearing a crown in hell. Is that what they would've given Saren too? Better not to think about it.

"Must've been a real bad one. Fortunately, turians don't dream that often. I get more than enough excitement in my waking hours."

"Did I wake you?"

"Kind of, yeah. Not a big deal. I always feel like sleep is just wasting my time."

"I hope I wasn't screaming."

"No, nothing that dramatic," he said. "Just making these funny little human noises. It was actually sort of cute at first, but then you started thrashing around and well, hitting me..."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Yeah, I know, Jill. When you _mean _to hit someone, you do it a hell of a lot harder than that."

"You're going to laugh at me, but I thought I was inside a Reaper."

"Inside a Reaper? Doing what exactly?"

"Being part of it. Moving it around. It was disturbing. I wasn't thinking the way I usually do. I was almost...indoctrinated. One of them."

"Sounds like one crazy dream."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "It's that device. The one I told you about. This is one of the side-effects."

"You sure we should be keeping this thing on the ship? It seems like a risky move."

"We only have to keep it around 'til the trial. The agents at the Bureau had it for weeks and they were only moderately insane."

"Yeah, but some members of our crew are moderately insane already. Some are, uh...immoderately insane. Let's just say that nobody around here needs any help in the crazy department."

She kissed his face. "Well, I happen to like your level of crazy."

He laughed. "Probably because it matches your own."

"Exactly."

She caught the competitive gleam in his eyes, one she knew well from the battlefield. Of course, since the Omega-4 Relay, some of that relentless energy had been expressing itself in other venues. His body pushed against hers, their legs grappling under the sheets. Her arms reached for his shoulders, but he managed to roll her onto her back, using his forearms to pin her against the mattress.

"I win."

"No, the score is 1 – 1 now, Vakarian. That means a tie-breaker."

She twisted her legs up, wrapping them around his hips and rolled him over, putting herself back on top. They tipped right off the bed and landed the thin bamboo mat on the floor.

He gave a wheezy laugh, the breath knocked out of him. "See...this is much...better...than sleep."

She ground her hips into his, enjoying the way his body writhed underneath her. "So, do I win?"

"I'll let you take this round, at least."

* * *

The following morning, Shepard needed more than her usual dose of painkillers. She sauntered around the ship groggy and a little bow-legged, not quite succeeding at keeping a shameless grin at bay. Nightmares aside, this Reaper indoctrination device had its fringe benefits.

Considering the peril of her situation, she thought she was getting along rather well. But, of course, she was used to having mysterious alien races broadcasting through her head so waking up in a cold sweat from a few bad dreams wasn't going to faze her. The first time she'd experienced the garbled vision transmitted by the Prothean beacon, her response had been different. The images had been so vague, seared away by a blast of merciless white light, but the suffering and the terror had been palpable, something that knotted inside her. There were times when she had doubted her sanity and in some cases, she knew she'd been right to worry. No one could absorb the deaths of billions, hear their agonized cries and come out of it unscathed, without a few extra voices chanting in one's ears. Maybe she was half-mad, as babbling sidewalk seers and indignant prophets of doom tended to be, even when they were right – the curse of the Cassandra. If she had to be crazy, she just hoped that she could be crazy like a fox, in order to rally the galaxy together to stop the Reapers.

Already she'd noticed some of the crew members reacting to the ill effects of the device. Tali was stressed-out and had already sent her three paranoid texts regarding Ken and Gabby's use of the FBA couplings. Kasumi had begun carrying her VI diary around everywhere, explaining that she planned to record all her memories and live forever via an extranet avatar. Mordin had declared that his life-span was too short to admit any more distractions from work and practically barricaded himself in the lab. If EDI hadn't mentioned the potential side-effects, Shepard might have simply written the behaviours off as quirks, a bad mood or a shift in habits, things to be monitored perhaps as signs of fatigue or psychological wear-and-tear.

She was conducting a general inspection of the crew deck when she heard a door hiss open.

"Oh, for Chrissakes! Damn it! Damn."

She peered around the corner and saw Kaidan outside his quarters in the Starboard Observatory, a few rumpled sheets of paper clutched in his hands. He'd just been released from a stay in the infirmary for chlorine poisoning and Chawkas was still making him carry a metal canister of oxygen around to assist his breathing. However, at the moment, his quick breathing seemed to be more a result of anger than his injuries.

"What's wrong?"

"It's that – that crazy woman!" Kaidan sputtered. "Jack. And her stupid pet."

Shepard braced herself for some bad news. If Miranda's office had started smelling like varren piss, then she would've known there was a problem with the new pet, but Jack had been relatively quiet, slipping into one of her anti-social phases, and Bing was much less rambunctious than she'd anticipated. Or at least, it had been, up 'til now.

"What'd they do?"

"She let the varren run all over my quarters! Look!" He held out a handful of papers and from the way they were tattered, it was evident they'd been chewed over and slobbered on by a certain fish-headed mongrel. "Look, what that thing did! These used to be part of books. They were...valuable."

Shepard stepped into the Starboard Observatory and surveyed the damage. A chair was knocked on its side and there were some scuff marks on the floor that appeared to be the approximate size and shape of varren claws. Most of Kaidan's possessions were still intact, but the creature overturned his box of books and mementoes, probably eager to munch on soft paper and cloth rather chipping away at the metal furniture.

"Do you think she did it on purpose?"

"I...I don't know. I've never done anything to make her angry. I barely look at the woman, although with all those tattoos, she makes it pretty darn difficult not to stare."

The fact that Jack wasn't too fond of wearing shirts probably wasn't helping there either.

"I'll give Jack a reprimand and we can dock her next pay to reimburse you for the damage to your stuff. My guess is that it was carelessness, not something malicious," Shepard said. "She probably just didn't tie up the varren at night. If Jack's pissed at you, you'd definitely know it. And anyway, if she was going to go after anyone, it would've been Miranda."

"A reimbursement just isn't going to cut it. This – this isn't my stuff, Shepard. It's Ash's."

Shepard's mouth dropped and she inhaled a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. She shouldn't have let a varren on the ship. She'd thought that it might be good for Jack, believing that having a pet would calm her, but she hadn't counted on something like this. Why in the hell did Kaidan have Ash's stuff anyway? It should've been back with her sisters, locked up somewhere safe, cherished.

She knelt down and picked up one of the pages on the floor, still clinging to a ripped book binding: _A Children's Garden of Verse._ She looked at another – _Balm for the Soul: Inspirational Poetry from Romantic and Victorian Literature._ These were definitely Ashley's books, ones she'd inherited from her dad. Shepard had glimpsed one or two of them in passing, usually just before Ash had tucked them away and resumed cleaning her rifles. The gunnery chief had known most of them by heart, but she said that she liked to read them over anyway, just for the feel of the old paper between her fingers, the way they smelled.

"How did you get these?"

"There was a memorial service on the anniversary of Ashley's passing. It happened...while you were gone. Her sister gave me these. She told me to take them out to the stars. To finish what Ash had been fighting for. I don't think anyone told her...there'd been a choice on Virmire. That it could've ended differently."

"It was an impossible choice, Kaidan. No matter what happened, a good soldier was going to die."

"I know. And I lived," Kaidan said. "I was supposed to keep this stuff safe."

Shepard collected another handful of pages. "This can be fixed. I'll talk to Liara. I'm sure she can recommend someone who does book restorations. I can arrange it as soon as we're back on the Citadel."

Kaidan sighed. "You think it's that easy? Just fix it, huh? Once something's broken, it's never the same again. Maybe you can put some tape on it or glue the pieces back together, but it won't be what it was."

"I get the feeling this isn't just about books," she said.

"It's about how everything that was good and honest on the old Normandy has just been ripped up apart or turned into some kind of horrible mockery. That's what really eats me up inside."

She didn't answer him. She was afraid of what she might say. She didn't know how to explain the moment when the Normandy ruptured, the blast propelling her backwards into the void. She could tell him that she'd grasped at her throat as the oxygen streamed from the back of her suit or that she'd kicked her legs in panic, but that wouldn't convey the terror. She could tell him, how, at last, she'd stopped struggling and turned her face from the wreckage, her body drifting across the abyss towards the chilly light of a planetary horizon. The light streaming into her stony eyes, the dark curve of the world's surface – those were the last things she'd seen before she'd blacked out. And then nothing. Not even the knowledge of nothingness. How to explain that? He thought he could tell her about loss, but he didn't know the first damn thing.

"It's all just a slap in the face. This ship, these people - even the old team has changed and not for the better. You, too," he said. "Ash wouldn't have liked it. She would never have joined with Cerberus. She would never have sat by while you let everything we stood turn into some...grotesque joke."

Maybe it was true, maybe that's how Ashley would have reacted, but she still couldn't believe he'd say it. She'd never known Kaidan to be so harsh, so intentionally hurtful.

"And what makes you the authority on what Ashley would've thought? Since when do you get the right to speak for her?"

"Since you turned into a turian," Kaiden shot back. "Do you think Ashley would have respected that?"

Shepard folded an arm over her chest, hugging herself tightly, mostly to restrain herself. She'd never been so angry at him, not even when he'd chewed her out on Virmire, right in front of Garrus and Tali, even when he'd walked out on her.

"Are you sure it's Ashley you're speaking for?"

"Look at who you work with, Jill. Terrorists and criminals and mad scientists. Those are your new friends. You spend enough time with them and you start thinking like they do," he said. "I shouldn't have brought her stuff onto this ship. I should've known that bringing it here would spoil everything."

"You know what really spoils things? When you try to use Ashley's memory to manipulate me, to make me feel like dirt just because I can't snap my fingers and make the galaxy a place that Staff-Commander Kaidan Alenko thinks is clean and noble enough to live in."

"For so long, I've been blaming myself, for Ash dying, for you...I used to lie up at night just making lists in my head of the things I could've done differently to keep you alive. Sometimes I wish -"

She glared at him. "You wish that I hadn't come back? So you could always keep me in that little box in your mind, loving my memory without ever really knowing a damned thing about me?"

"No," he said softly. "I wish that I'd have died, so I wouldn't have to walk around with the guilt. Maybe then you would've stayed a hero to humanity. You could've been my hero to the end, instead of...this."

Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them away, angry at him and angry at herself for letting him get to her. He always thought he had the moral high ground. Even when they'd been dating, he'd been passive-aggressive. "And what am I now, Kaidan?"

"Somebody who's struck up so many compromises she doesn't know who or what she is anymore."

"Maybe you never really knew me."

"Maybe not," he said. "Just tell me this: did you take him back?"

She shook her head. "You're really trying to pick a fight with me, aren't you? I thought we were going to try and get along."

"Vakarian left you. He left the Normandy. He did exactly the same thing I did on Horizon. He walked away. You reject me, practically cheat on me, but you forgive him like it's nothing at all. Explain that to me."

"It's different."

"How?"

"The situation is different. The people are different."

He frowned at her, setting his jaw in that quiet, defiant way that had often settled their disputes in his favour. "The reason it's different is because you never loved me."

"I cared about you. I still do."

"That isn't the same thing."

"Maybe not," she conceded. "But aren't you glad you know the difference?"

"I feel the difference. It tears me up," he said. "You know how I got assigned to this mission, Jill? I went back to Alliance command and told them that you needed me. I had to use up a lot of favours to get this posting. I thought I could bring you back. That I could rescue the woman I knew."

"Except that I don't need rescuing. Not even from myself."

He turned away from her, sighing, looking forlornly out the broad observatory window. It usually offered a spectacular view of the stars, but they were in the Quorum District docking bay now and all one could see were a few old freighters and some rusted cargo crates.

"I don't know how to talk to you," he murmured.

Shepard shuffled through the pages in her hand. "Ulysses", "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner", "Ode on a Grecian Urn", "A Birthday", poems she'd read as a teenager in schoolrooms, never quite understanding, mystified by the intricacy of the words, the stiff archaic phrases, the references to a planet she'd visited just twice. And then she saw a page titled "Invictus". It was a strange coincidence, the sort that she'd always considered lucky. She read a few lines from one of the central verses, mouthing them quietly to herself.

"'Beyond this place of wrath and tears/Looms but the Horror of the shade,/And yet the menace of the years/Finds and shall find me unafraid.'"

Kaidan glanced back at her. "'It matters not how strait the gate,/How charged with punishments the scroll,/I am the master of my fate:/I am the captain of my soul.' "Invictus". William Ernest Henley. Pg 137."

"Impress-" She caught herself just on time. Shacking up with Garrus was having a definite impact on her word choices. "Very good. I didn't know you liked poetry."

"I don't. I liked Ashley. Memorizing the poems gave me a way to remember her."

"Do you think Ash would really hate me for what I'm doing?"

"No. I don't think she'd hate you," he admitted. "I think she might disapprove. I shouldn't have used it against you. That was wrong."

"Do you hate me?"

"No. Although it would be simpler if I did. What I hate is the situation. What we've all become. What I become when I see you with him."

"Couldn't we all become something else? I'd like to be your friend. Someday."

"No, I don't think that's happening, Jill. One day, I'll be able to forgive you. I'll let you go, I'll find someone else and I won't think about us as anything but a memory. Maybe we'll even be able to have a civil conversation. But I don't think I'm ever going to trust you, not the way I did."

It hurt to hear him say it in that simple, matter-of-fact way, but it was true. All they could do was bind together what was broken and wait for time to do the rest. Like a cracked bone, maybe it wouldn't set properly. Maybe they'd always feel a twinge of pain and discomfort whenever they were in the same room together.

"Alright. I can handle that. At least I know where we stand."

"I think I'd like to be alone, Commander," he said. "If you don't mind."

"Okay. Of course. I can go."

His eyes met hers. "If you like the poem, take it. You should've had something of Ash's to take with you. Help you remember who and what we're fighting for."

She picked up the paper, leaving the rest of the pages stacked on the floor. She liked the poem, she decided, as she strode out of the Starboard Observatory and rounded the corner. It was one of the few that spoke clearly to her. She knew the "Horror of the shade," knew it more intimately than most. "The menace of the years", that seemed familiar to her too - the two years that had slipped by without her knowledge, altering everything irrevocably, changing the faces of old friends, of lovers, until she could barely recognize them. Yet as changed as things were and as bad as they could become, she felt a strange sort of buoyancy. It was horrible to die, but there'd also been a freedom in casting the old Normandy off like a shackle and turning her head to that new horizon, a line of light rising just above the verge.

* * *

Shepard waited in the office of the Primarch of Invictus, admiring the view from her window and looking at the holos spread across her desk. There was an image of the turian sitting beside a dark-blue asari with a stern, elegant face and then another of a young asari dressed to perform in a theatrical production. She wondered if the Primarch set them out when she was conducting interviews with other species and put them away when she was meeting with other turians.

The Primarch walked into the office, nodding her sleek, silver-streaked head in greeting. "Hello, Commander Shepard. It is custom with humans to shake hands, is it not? You are no doubt familiar with my title as I am familiar with your reputation, but we haven't been properly introduced. Lavinea Ossian."

She extended her hand and Shepard took it gratefully. Garrus had given her a tutorial on traditional turian greetings, but much of it depended on status and tier of citizenship and she'd been hesitant to use a gesture that implied she was from a client race or owed the turians any kind of tribute.

"Jillian Shepard."

They sat down and the Primarch folded her slender hands together on her desk, clicking her long painted talons together. "Have you anything to report from your visit to Auctoritas?"

"I do. My team found evidence of Reaper technology. We've also uncovered some of Saren's datafiles, with his correspondence, blue-prints, even some diaries that detail his relationship with Sovereign and his motivations for allying himself with the geth."

"And I presume that you can explain why the Arterius mansion burned down less than 36 hours ago..."

Shepard was glad that she'd prepared herself to meet this question with a straight-face. Somehow, she'd known that telling the turian authorities that her attempt at a break-in had failed and the estate had been burned down by a tank-bred krogan in the throes of a blood-rage wasn't going to cut it in the credibility department.

"News travels fast. My team and I were working on the grounds when a mutiny broke out amidst Captain Junius Severin's staff," she said. "His lieutenant took over with a faction of soldiers loyal to her, killing him and any agents still loyal to him. I don't understand the backroom politics, but I do understand a gun pointed at my head. We took her down for her treachery. The estate fire was unfortunate collateral damage."

Lavinea looked remarkably unfazed by this and even chuckled at little when Shepard invoked the term, 'collateral damage'. It was obvious the lady had been around the block a few times, maybe even burned down a few mansions herself.

"The estate doesn't concern me. It's under Palaven's jurisdiction. It will be accounted his failure. I simply want to make sure you have your story straight in case someone should ask questions."

"I think I can manage."

"I have no doubt. I wouldn't make any investment in you if I questioned your ability to get things done, Commander. You have an intriguing reputation."

Shepard laughed. "Not an entirely good one then."

"I don't trust people without a little scandal about them. It means they're too good at keeping secrets."

"Well, I appreciate the trust you've shown me. It was quite...unexpected."

"Yes, I suppose it would be," Lavinea replied. "Our species are still suspicious of one another. Old animosities linger. How much do you know of our politics?"

"Not as much as I should."

This provoked another laugh, one with a touch of condescension in it. Shepard didn't mind too much. After all, she was used to dealing with Udina, whose greatest joy in life seemed to be patronizing her, acting as if she was only just smart enough to know which way to point a gun.

"I won't bore you with a long history of the Unification Wars, but let me tell you this: turian politics have always hinged on the issue of empire and the empire has always leaned too heavily on the colonies," Lavinea said. "We're over-taxed and under-funded. Palaven and our Citadel Fleet have the best of everything while we're left fending off hordes of batarian raiders. Recently, however, the composition of the Primacy Council has changed. We've gained two more votes and that puts us in a much better position to represent ourselves."

Shepard wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. Garrus had told her enough stories about the history of the Unification Wars that she knew stirring up conflict between Palaven and the colonies could be a very bad thing.

"What are you planning?"

Lavinea's mandibles gave a slight twitch and then she returned to her usual imperturbability. "Not a coup, if that's what you're thinking. But it's time to take a stand on colonial defence. Your Reapers may present us with a prime opportunity."

"'My Reapers'?" Shepard was unable to hide her incredulity. "They don't belong to me. I didn't invent them. They're real and they're a threat to everyone."

The Primarch clicked her red-painted talons together again, an unsettling habit. "If they are real, then colonial defence is even more essential. If they aren't, well, we will be very well-fortified against the batarians."

Shepard offered her a bitter smile. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"I've certainly considered this, yes. And when the famous Commander Shepard arrived in the Council session and I saw the expression on Velarn's face, I knew I had found a natural ally."

"You and Velarn are not the best of friends, I take it."

"He's fine if you like the old-school sort of turian politician: male, Palavani, rich as a volus, of ancient family, still takes personal umbrage at the Relay 314 Incident," Lavinea said. "If he doesn't like me, it's because he knows that I intend to replace him when he leaves the Council. It may also be because I have the good luck to be smarter than him and the audacity not to conceal it."

"I'm guessing that a lot of people have that problem."

The turian nodded. "As I said, natural allies, Commander. Aside from our disagreements with Velarn, you and I have quite a few things in common, I think. I can see us working together to great mutual benefit."

The lady was smooth and her answers were a bit too practised for Shepard's liking. Nevertheless, she could use friends in high places, even if they were ones she wouldn't trust standing behind her with a dagger.

"And what sort of benefits would those be?"

"You present your evidence successfully before the Primacy Council and perhaps we shall find a way to get you your military support and bring Velarn down a notch or two," Lavinea answered. "Council members are appointed rather than elected, of course, so anything we do here will be insufficient to remove him from office, but it may shake him a bit. Furthermore, I will have set myself in place as his opposition, a viable alternative. If the Reapers never come, I will have secured colonial defences for my constituents and Velarn will have some displeased generals banging down his door. If your stories of the Reapers pay off, Velarn will look a fool for ever having denied them and many influential people here will be demanding his resignation. I will be ready to step in and I'll want a Spectre endorsing my appointment."

Shepard knew that she shouldn't have been shocked. Politicians treated galactic events as a game of cunning to be lost or won, the way a card shark antes up at Skyllian Five. She would have liked to have taken them all on a guided tour of the Collectors' base before she'd blown it up, just to show them what was at stake. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference. Maybe they would have looked at the atrocities committed against human colonists as yet another opportunity in the making.

"With all due respect, the Reapers' coming isn't going to 'pay off' for anyone. It's going to be terrifying. People will die. And if we're not prepared to fight them with everything we've got, everyone will die. The Reapers aren't coming to further anyone's political ambitions."

Lavinea blinked her dark eyes, as if trying to conceive of a scenario that didn't have some impact on her obtaining a Council seat. "I'm not trying to diminish what the Reapers are or what they might do. But everything, everything is political. The clothes you wear. The food you eat. The markings on your face...or lack thereof. Even which sentient you take to bed, as I believe you recently have had occasion to learn. The Reapers may be real, they may be terrifying and they may cost many, many lives. But they will be political, whether you like or not."

"I can accept that," Shepard said. "What I can't accept is the idea that politics might be placed before people's lives."

"I understand. You needn't worry, Commander. After all, one cannot be much of a leader without people around to follow and support one's causes and I intend to be a very great leader. Even the Council are just four scared little people without the resources of the Citadel Fleet and the galactic community behind them."

"As long as that we agree on that, I think we can work together."

"I am glad of it," Lavinea said. "Now is there anything else I can assist you with or should I let you get back to preparing for the final Primacy Council session? Your time is winding down."

Shepard shifted uncomfortably in her chair. There was a certain subject that she'd wanted to address but wasn't quite sure how to go about it without making it sound painfully...personal.

"Actually, yes, there may be something you can help me with. One of my crewmembers...well, he's turian and he lost his citizenship in a civil intervention hearing. Is there anything that I can do through official channels to help him?"

"Your mate, is he not? The son of Cereus Vakarian, a noted veteran of C-Sec?"

Mate? She was pretty sure that she and Garrus weren't at that point yet, but she decided just to let it slide. At least it wasn't derogatory like the terms the turian courts and the Westerlund News had used to describe their relationship.

"Yes, that's right. I didn't know you were keeping track."

"I like to know my new friends, Commander," Lavinea replied. "Unfortunately, there's little I can do for the younger Vakarian. Considering the nature of the charges against him and his apparent lack of remorse, he is probably better off working outside of the Hierarchy."

"There's nothing that can be done?"

"No, not unless he complies with the court order," the turian said. "As for Cereus Vakarian and his renunciation of citizenship, that is an unusual situation, something that I've never seen in our courts. I don't even believe a renunciation can be considered legal unless the complaining party stands by it. All the old man has to do to go back to the magistrate and tell him that he's changed his mind. It is entirely at his discretion."

Shepard wondered if Cereus was aware of that loophole. Knowing the truth might at least put Garrus' mind at ease.

"Thank you. You've been very helpful."

"I try to be useful to my friends," Lavinea replied. "So I take it you will be ready for the final Primacy Council session? I know I will certainly be well-prepared, with all my defences rallied."

"I'll be ready. I'll see you then."

As Shepard left the office, she'd already started to ponder the Primarch's suggestions, which she'd considered quite reasonable - unusually reasonable for a turian official, but perhaps she'd just had really bad luck with the Hierarchy's bureaucracy. It was a relief to know that ridiculous sham of an intervention hearing didn't have to be the ruin of the Vakarians. There was still an opportunity for a decent resolution, perhaps even reconciliation between father and son, if she could convince Garrus to give it a shot.


	15. Dominance

Domus, a popular game among turians, was played on a round black board showing green circles and blue diamonds, representing planets and space stations respectively. It reminded Shepard of chess, although the game pieces were modelled after ships from the Hierarchy's Fleet rather than the feudal armies of medieval Europe. Another disconcerting difference was the way that pieces could zing across the domus board at a moment's notice, depending on whether one made use of the nearby mass relays, shown as yellow squares. The ultimate goal of the game was to colonize every planet on the board and wipe out all the forces of one's opponent. The emphasis on empire-building was not coincidental, coming from a culture obsessed with spreading its military might and influence to a thousand worlds.

Considering it was her first time playing, Shepard thought she'd managed a few clever moves, but it was evident that Garrus was a skilled domus player and that his victory was almost inevitable. He already occupied most of the planets on the board and his offensive forces were circling her strongholds with malicious intent, picking off her lesser pieces with each turn. She suspected that he might've defeated her earlier, but instead had humoured her by opting for some weaker moves, sacrificing some of his pieces to extend the life of the game.

Garrus rested his cheek on his clawed hand, pondering his next move. "Hmm...That's a tough one."

Evidently, it wasn't quite as difficult as he'd pretended. A second later, he moved one of his dreadnoughts through a mass relay, landing next to Shepard's last remaining space station.

"Now you're just toying with me," Shepard said. "I get the feeling you're much, much better at this game than you let on."

"Oh, I'm alright at it. I've been playing since I was a kid."

"It shouldn't be long until your dad's here," she said. "I surrender. Take your victory. You earned it."

He stared at the game pieces as if a real battle were in progress over Sinear Station. "I'm not sure I want to see him. How'd you talk me into this again?"

"The same way I talk you into most things: excessive amounts of charm."

He chuckled. "Well, that's one theory."

In retaliation for this dig, she reached across the board, knocking over his fleet of dreadnoughts with a flick of her hand. "Oops. The Reapers got your ships. Sorry. Guess you lose."

"Ha, real mature, Jill. You just can't handle my scathing wit and incredible tactical prowess."

"You dare to mock the Reapers by calling them immature? We will crush you, pitiful organic!"

Shepard was about to swipe her arm across the board, toppling all the pieces, when she saw Cereus Vakarian limping across the metal walkway, towards the Quorum Archives, where the series of domus tables had been set up for public use.

She immediately straightened up in her chair and tried to look like a responsible, law-abiding adult, the kind who drinks in moderation at respectable bars, has a retirement savings plan and never, ever overdraws on her credit chit. She was hoping that she wasn't immediately identifiable as the sort of person who hangs out with AI, lets geth, criminals and hormone-crazed krogan run rampant on her ship and keeps a partially-disabled Reaper indoctrination device lying around in hopes that it will prove her theories about galactic invasion. You know, the batshit insane, screw-it-all-to-hell, death-defying type, with one foot in the grave and the other usually lodged in her mouth. Not that the charade was likely to help anything - Cereus had pegged her as bad news from Day One.

Garrus noted her change in demeanour. "Damn. He's coming, isn't he?"

She nodded. "It's okay. Relax. You're here doing him a favour. That's it."

Cereus spotted them, his eyes training in on Garrus and then darting over to Shepard. She could see why his son had become a sniper. Under a gaze like that, she felt as if she were locked in the scope, as if he might fire at any second with deadly accuracy.

They'd arranged to meet the old turian at the front of the Archives, a place that he and Garrus knew well from earlier days. Garrus hadn't elaborated much on the memories they'd shared here, but Shepard sensed that they might have been pleasant. At the very least, it was a public venue, not so uncomfortably close to Garrus' childhood as the run-down apartment by Honoria Station, which he refused to revisit.

"Hello, son," Cereus said. "And good day to you, Commander Shepard."

Shepard rose from her chair, offering him her seat. As she did, Garrus caught hold of her hand, shooting her a reproachful look that told her that if she thought she could drag him into this and then beat swift retreat, she was dead wrong.

"I'm going to get another chair," she said.

He gave her hand a light squeeze before releasing her, a reminder not to stray.

"I see you're playing domus." Cereus attempted a conciliatory tone, one strangely out of keeping with his grim expression. "It's been a long time, I suppose, since you put your hand to the game."

"Seven years," Garrus said, from between gritted teeth. If there was a special significance to this number, Shepard didn't know it, but it seemed to put a distinct chill in the air. It was funny how Cereus' solemn paternal presence could turn a balmy day on Palaven into a forced march across the peaks of Noveria.

Borrowing a chair from an empty table, Shepard set a place for herself in the only place available - right between the two Vakarians. She felt as if the combined intensity of their glares might burn a hole through her skull.

"Garrus was a champion player all through academy," Cereus said. Shepard presumed that this information was directed towards her, although the old turian kept his eyes resolutely focussed on his son. "He made third in the national tournament, as I recall. If he would've applied himself, I think he might have gone even further. Domus is the game of generals, you know."

"He's very talented," she replied.

This didn't seem to appease Cereus. "Talented, certainly. He has always shown an enormous potential. But talents must be developed and put to the public good. Otherwise, they're little more than vanity."

"We're not here to talk about me," Garrus said. "I came here to let you know that I won't be staying on Palaven. If you want to keep your citizenship, you just have to go back to the magistrate and ask for it. Shepard spoke to one of the Primarchs and she said that, legally, no one can withhold it from you."

Cereus' eyes narrowed and he tapped his cane absent-mindedly at the metal tablestand – clink, clink, clink. The noise seemed calculated to express his frustration. "So you've chosen. I fear that you haven't chosen well, but perhaps, that's my own fault. I know I've never given you an easy path, Garrus. I'd hoped that you would learn to distinguish the easy way from the right way."

"Trust me, coming here wasn't easy. It was the furthest thing from."

"That's because you realize that you have been leading yourself into dishonour. The pain you feel in coming here is shame. It is a sign that not all is lost with you yet."

"If I don't like coming here, it's got nothing to do with honour or dishonour. It has everything to do with the way you treat me."

"All I have ever asked of you is to behave with due decorum and to show proper respect for the Spirit of the Law, which regulates all actions and calls all people to account in their time. I do not think it unreasonable."

"I've stopped caring what you think is unreasonable. I just came here to inform you that you don't have to lose your citizenship. What you do with that information is up to you."

Garrus started up from his seat, jostling the table and knocking down the remaining domus pieces.

Shepard folded her arms over her chest, giving him a cautionary look. He'd assured her that he wouldn't bail at the first sign of trouble. She couldn't understand how he could be dead-calm when the enemy was hailing bullets down on them, barely showing a pulse, but as soon as his dad showed up, he was as jittery as a recruit on the first day of Basic.

"Is that really the last thing you want to say to him?" she asked.

"No. What I want to say is that I've found my own way of doing things. If he can't handle that, well, that's unfortunate. Maybe when the Reapers come, he'll realize that what I'm doing is important, much too important to give up."

"I have never doubted that you have good intentions," Cereus said. "But I believe it's even more likely that your understanding of duty has been twisted by other concerns. You are too emotional and you make careless decisions in the heat of the moment, ones that you are bound to regret."

"I'm not going to regret this."

"You may when you cease to want her."

Shepard's hands gripped the bottom of her seat, her fingernails digging into the plastic. The turian's words lashed at her, stinging so bitterly it was as if they'd left scourge marks across her face.

Garrus leaned forward on the table, his mandibles pushing back to reveal his teeth. His fury had a white-hot precision, a focus that had the potential to be terrifying, turning his pale eyes to knife-points. "I love her. That isn't going to change."

Cereus watched his son, scrutinizing this rash display, and Shepard was again struck by his stillness and the sense of rightness that he managed to project even when he was dead-wrong.

"Affections have a way of changing when confronted with realities. You cannot be truly mated with a human. She cannot bear your young. Perhaps an unusual biology fascinates you now, perhaps you find it interesting to rebel by taking an interest in humanity and their upstart culture, but one day you will want to be among your own kind. You will tire of this phase and then the gravity of the decision you have made will hit you. It will cause you unspeakable pain to know that you have given up all the security of your home world and all the dignity of your native culture for the sake of a childish whim."

Cereus eyed Shepard, taking in her response with a clinical interest. Perhaps he was pleased to discover that the prospect of losing his son would hurt her, proud as he was of Garrus' accomplishments and abilities, all the potential his son and legacy might offer for the good of the Hierarchy. She met his eye coldly, reminding herself that he had no power over her and that his control over Garrus had ended a long time ago.

"I am sorry if my words seem harsh, Shepard. But it is my experience that a young man's infatuations are short-lived, particularly when the match is unsuitable and presents many difficulties. I imagine your own father would offer similar objections were he here and could see you engaged in an affair that can only end badly."

Shepard thought of her father, a laughing, careless man, a charmer and a bit of a rake, if truth be told. He'd passed away a year before she'd joined the Alliance, his death sped on by a love of food, drink and women, always women, a ceaseless parade of them appearing when she was young and her mother was off-base, innocuous 'aunties' who'd painted Shepard's nails or bought her root-beer floats. After the inevitable discovery, the separation and the divorce, he'd settled down with another wife and given her the same treatment, unwilling to learn his lesson or perhaps eager to test how far he could push someone else before she'd cease to love him. Shepard's old man would have blessed any match she'd made as long as she said she was happy and the man was willing to laugh at his jokes. If he'd lived to see her entangled in a public scandal with a turian, he would've simply called it 'an experience' and chalked it up to his adventurous genes showing themselves in her again. Cereus Vakarian and Robert Shepard would never have understood one another.

"If my father were here, I don't think he'd have anything bad to say about Garrus," she said.

"He would be remiss not to do so. But it is a different culture and I cannot pretend to understand. Perhaps human fathers are less troubled about the welfare of their children, trusting that they will learn from their own sufferings."

"Aren't you glad we came to help him?" Garrus said to her. "He really has a way making people pay for their good deeds."

She rose from her chair, regarding Cereus as if from a distance. It was easier to disregard the strength of his convictions and perceive his smallness and his fear when she was looking down at him. "I think you're making a mistake here. You can dislike me all you want, but you care about Garrus. This approach isn't the way to keep him in your life."

"My life means little anymore and I intend my honour to outlast it," Cereus said. "All my future hopes, Garrus, were in you."

Garrus shook his head. "Find somewhere else to put them and get on with your life. That's all I've come here to say to you."

"I will not go back on my word. I have renounced my citizenship. I will stand by the consequences of my decision. I do not bend."

"I admired you. You've always had my respect. I still...want you to be well. But one thing you taught me was to search out what is right. For me, this is it, whether you like it or not. I'm not going to back down on this."

"Very well. If I have lost you, it is not for lack of fighting. Goodbye, my son."

"Take care of yourself," Garrus told him.

Cereus nodded at Shepard, dropping his cane against his knee. "You take the victory, Commander. Prove worthy of the trust he has placed in you."

"I intend to," she said. "Always."

They left the old turian there with the fallen domus pieces, the remains of a forfeited game. She could feel his eyes upon them as they walked away, but she had no pity left for him. She'd thought to help him, but he wouldn't help himself and so the consequences were his to keep, along with his terrible pride. It was a relief when they turned a corner and were out of his sight.

Garrus didn't speak for a few minutes and Shepard was careful not to press him before he was ready. She wasn't sure if seeing his father again had been helpful or if it'd only made things worse. It hadn't gone as she'd hoped, but perhaps she'd expected too much, having been brought up on vids where lovers had last-minute reunions right before the shuttle blasts out of port and parents admitted their love for their children in heart-warming death-bed confessions, thus erasing all doubts, all pain. At least father and son had spoken and some semblance of acceptance had passed between them. Considering Cereus' unyielding nature, that might be the best that anyone could prise from him.

"I can't believe he brought up that domus tournament," Garrus said, at last. "It was so long ago."

Shepard glanced at him, surprised at how well he seemed to be taking it. She'd expected at least ten more minutes of brooding before she'd get even a hint of what he was thinking. "He's proud of you, in his way. He just has a screwed-up way of showing it."

"Yeah, well, it's not a big deal. It was good to finally tell him where I stand on things, even if he is stubborn as hell. I'm just sorry he started sounding off on all that...biology crap. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"He has a point," she said. "I mean, if having kids is important to you, then -"

The anger that had simmered behind his eyes melted away, replaced by an air of bemusement. "Have I ever expressed interest in children? Other than sharing my opinions on juvenile delinquency in the Wards?"

"No, not really."

"That's because, for me, they're not a priority. I get that children are the future and all, but actually having them would totally cramp my style," he said. "Why, Jill? I didn't think that was something you cared about, but maybe I'm wrong on that point..."

She laughed, relieved. "Nooooo. I can barely take care of my fish, remember?"

"Well then, crisis averted."

"Were you really in the national domus championships?" she asked, eager to change the subject. "Funny how you didn't mention that."

He shrugged. "Have to keep a little mystery, right? Especially now that I don't have a secret identity."

"I feel a lot less stupid now that I know I got my ass handed to me by the third best domus player on Palaven."

"I doubt I still hold that dubious distinction." His voice betrayed a hint of embarrassment. No doubt his mastery of domus had started as yet another concession to his father, something he'd undertaken out of a sense of obligation to be the ideal young turian. "But I'll tell you what: if you'd like, I'll teach you to play the game to win. It'll be good strategy practice for the Reapers. You know, for when we end up getting those armies."

"Sounds good. I have one condition though."

"And what's that?"

"Next time we play, it's new rules. Strip domus. If I'm ever going to beat the great Garrus Vakarian, tactical genius, I could use the extra motivation."

He chuckled. "Okay then, I'll head right out and get us a board. Fair warning, though: with what you're wearing now, I could have you naked in two moves."

"And how long would it take you to colonize all of my planets?"

"Mm, that...that's something I would take my time with. We turians treat empire-building as a very serious matter. Besides, I like to savour each and every conquest."

* * *

_Awakened from their long hibernation, the Reapers glide through dark space. They are gargantuan and although they do not appear swift, their pace is steady and determined, maintaining perfect formation. As they cross the abyss, they flex their tentacles, testing their powers after millennia of lethargy. The void is soundless, but their voices stab into her mind, a screeching cacophony that flatlines into the whirr of a drill. If it is language, the words are beyond comprehension, beyond thought, and she wills her ears into deafness. _

Shepard didn't even have to be asleep to see them anymore. The visions were quick flashes, lasting as long as it took to blink, but still not brief enough for her liking. It would be a relief to get the presentation to the Primacy Council finished so that they could destroy the pieces of the device. Once they'd cleared out the ship, life on the Normandy would return to normal – or at least, to its usual level of abnormal. The readings they'd collected from the machine were promising as evidence, especially since they could now prove that machine manipulated dark energy to create psychological effects, a phenomenon that known sentient races had never been able to replicate in their own technology. Still, she had to wonder if the potential benefits were worth the risk, a question that always cropped up when they were dealing with unknown quantities.

Rubbing her eyes, Shepard sat down at her desk and opened one of the data files Legion had forwarded to her laptop. Lately, these files had become her primary reading material, particularly the diaries of Saren Arterius, which exerted a strange fascination upon her. She knew it was morbid to pore over the account of his indoctrination and deterioration into madness, but she found his dilemma frighteningly similar to the one she now found herself in. They both knew about the Reapers, realizing the necessity of swift action against a menace that few would understand – but where he had chosen appeasement, she had chosen full-scale galactic war. Hopefully, she would succeed where he had failed, but there were no guarantees. Perhaps there was something she could learn from his history.

From all appearances, Saren had started writing the account a few years before he'd discovered Sovereign, intending to leave the works as historical documentation of his significance on the galactic stage. While he couldn't claim credit for many of his Spectre missions, he seemed determined to leave his mark on posterity. This concern with the way that history would perceive him had only increased over the course of the journals as he'd fallen under the sway of the Reapers.

She scrolled down the page, reading an entry dated two months before Eden Prime.

_It is impossible to oppose the Reapers and live. If the Council races are to survive, we must understand the logic of the machines and demonstrate our usefulness, before it is too late. It is better to collaborate with the immortals than to be obliterated._

_It would be folly to inform the Council of my discovery. I doubt they would be able to conceive of such a grand design. They would dismiss it as madness. The councillors are near-sighted fools, concentrating on the petty problems of this colony or that planet, the trifling matter of a few hundred lives lost or saved, unable to see the patterns weaving around them. When we face mass extinction, the sacrifice of a thousand planets and a billion lives means nothing. _

_I have considered inviting Nihlus to join me on this most important of missions. On several occasions, I have been ready to broach the subject with him, but he insists on filling his schedule with trivial assignments. Recently, the fellow has also shown a disturbing and misguided interest in "uplifting humanity for the greater good", a charity project if I ever saw one. If he thinks to help induct humans into the Spectres then I fear he is lost to reason and would not be a worthy representative of the turian race to put before Sovereign._

Shepard remembered the first time she'd encountered Nihlus on the Normandy. He'd been stern and exacting, with stiff manners and a gift for silence that most of the crew had found distinctly sinister. She hadn't trusted him initially either, perhaps because of the ominous rumours floating around the sub-decks or maybe because she didn't have much experience working with turians. Nowadays, it was easier for her understand and appreciate the incredible risk Nihlus had taken in evaluating her for the Spectres. It was odd to think of him as one of her mentors, but he had played a crucial role in her development and his early support had been important in gaining her Spectre status. She'd later discovered that he had been an outsider among his fellow turians, always kept at a suspicious distance, and so he'd rejected their insular world and opened himself to the possibility of a partnership with the Alliance.

There was an addendum to this entry typed at the bottom of the page, a chilling afterthought:

_I have difficulty keeping my thoughts clear at times. It started as hallucinations and alterations in mood. Those were easy to recognize and counter, merely an introduction. Now it's more insidious. I know the voices are there, but I cannot map out their influence. I must question every decision I make, tracing the thoughts back to their sources. I must prove myself an ally, not a slave. These writings will help remind me of my goals. _

_The facility on Virmire will provide more answers. _

Virmire had provided answers, although they were not the ones that anyone had wanted to hear. Saren had hoped to find a way around the indoctrination process, a fail-safe measure that he could use when he felt his autonomy slipping away, but perhaps, at that point, it was already too late and the testing was more for the Reapers' benefit than for his own.

Reading his words, Shepard knew that she was also treading along a slippery ledge. The evidence that she intended to use to convince the Primarchs of the Reapers' existence – some of it was dangerous and getting more so by the day. When it came time to destroy the device, would something click off inside her head, something that would prevent her from doing the right thing, the necessary thing, and blasting the machine to shrapnel? She'd trusted to her mental strength and the repeated assurance that it was only four days until the madness was over, four days until she could secure the forces she needed and be rid of the damned thing, but what if her confidence itself was madness, a sign of indoctrination? Looking up from the screen, she tried to calm herself with a reminder that there was only one night left until the Primacy Council heard her case. Surely they could carry on with this gamble for a few more hours.

When her eyes returned to the document, she was surprised to see that she had reached the final entry in nearly three years' worth of journals. It was not dated, but it was easy to put into the context. It was the only part of the account to mention her or her quest against him.

_The Council have sent Nihlus' little human protégé to capture me. A fool's errand. Having inherited my old friend's files, I am already in possession of Shepard's service record, her psychological profile and personal history. If she is as easily manipulated as her mentor Anderson, I have nothing to worry about. More likely, the geth will kill her. They hail me as a prophet, although their true allegiance lies with the Reapers, who the creatures stupidly call the 'Old Machines'. They build shrines to their gods. Sovereign speaks of them with contempt. He finds their adoration insulting. I must be careful to show that organic species are different, that we can offer more than mindless praise. _

_It is bitter to be called a traitor, labelled bare-faced and a rogue. I am the only Spectre worthy of the title, because I have never shirked my responsibilities. I have undertaken the dirty tasks that no one else could handle, my arms bathed in blood up to the elbows. Ignorant fools will judge because they do not comprehend necessities, because they are weak-hearted and place undue value on persons rather than on societies. I would save civilization and yet they will admonish me for a few dead colonists! When I am acknowledged as the redeemer of all life in this galaxy, they will regret their insolence. _

_I do not know why Shepard's obstinacy gives me doubts. I am doing what is right because it is what is necessary. In the future, organic and synthetic parts will unite to create a glorious new whole. It is the dawn of a Golden Age - enhanced abilities, a more evolved intelligence, order and peace driven by the logic of systems rather than the useless passions of individuals. I am the vanguard and the visionary. Sovereign recognizes my worth and has promised me a suitable reward before the day of judgement comes._

Shepard considered sharing this at the Primacy Council to drive home the terrifying, mistaken pragmatism that had motivated Saren's collaboration with the geth. It might just work, although she had no doubt that Velarn would argue that she'd just fabricated the file or that Saren had cooked up the journals as a trick, hoping to get the last laugh on the naive junior Spectre who had brought him down. She took a few notes in her omni-tool, ideas on how she might use the journal to reinforce the data they had already collected about the geth cults and indoctrination methods.

The door whooshed open behind her and she closed her screen before Garrus could catch her skimming through the journal. For some reason, it bothered him to know that she read them, as if by learning about Saren's perspectives, she might be conceding that she had something in common with the hated traitor. Garrus seemed content to believe that she was good and that Saren was evil, the distinction rendered in his favoured shades of black and white, without any gradations of grey. For someone so inclined to doubt himself, he placed an awful lot of faith in her.

She spun in her chair and saw that Garrus was carrying a round black board covered in green circles and blue diamonds. There was a small plastic bag of playing pieces in his hand.

"Found it on sale at the market," he said. "I figured we might find a use for it."

She smiled, wetting her lips. "I think we might."

He put the board down on her coffee table and started setting out the pieces in careful rows, first the black ones and then the white. Turning off her computer, she took a seat on the couch across from him and helped to finish off the last row.

"Just a friendly match?" she inquired.

"That would depend on your definition of 'friendly'," he replied, putting the last piece in place. "Let's just say I'm playing this one to win."

"We're playing by my rules then?"

"Of course. I believe I said I'd get those clothes off in two moves? "

"That was your boast."

"No. That was my promise. I'm pretty good at keeping those."

"I'm playing black then," she said, spinning the board so that the black pieces were on her side. The player on the black side always took the first turn and she knew she was going to need every advantage she could get.

Scanning the board, she made her move, already anticipating another crushing defeat. Of course, this was one of the rare occasions when there were pleasures even in loss.


	16. Testament

Walking into the Normandy's research lab was like taking a guided tour through the bizarre psyche of Dr. Mordin Solus. The smell of formaldehyde soured the air and bacterial samples grew colourful and hairy in glass containers, each marked with times, dates and cryptic symbols that seemed to represent Mordin's enthusiastic reactions to their progress. Another section of the room functioned as museum of curiosities, containing a collection of dried flowers and medicinal plants, tissue samples from a variety of species and some anatomical models, including a plastic human skeleton wearing one of Joker's ratty old baseball caps. Numerous inventions were scattered around the lab in various states of completion. Among the gadgets and gizmos, Shepard noted a cybernetic arm, a weapon that looked like a vacuum cleaner and a transparent ball that produced frenetic bursts of purple electricity. Resting her arm on the counter, she nearly stuck her elbow into a Petri dish of green ooze.

Mordin fidgeted and blinked his bugged eyes, barely tolerating this incursion into his sanctum sanctorum. "Careful. Delicate business. No room for mistakes."

Shepard gazed down at the slimy mess, her lips curling into a distasteful grimace. It smelled like the beach, salt-water and grimy sea-weed mingling with the faint reek of dead fish. "An experiment?"

"Breakfast, actually. Nutrient paste of own devising. All essential vitamins and minerals. Very high in fiber. Also quite tasty."

Mordin pulled a spoon from the pocket of his lab coat and started in on his meal. He ate quickly and delicately, gumming at his nutrient paste like a happy infant and smacking his lips together after every spoonful in the way.

"So, is your part of the presentation ready to go for the Primacy Council?" she asked. "We only have five more hours."

"All prepped," he said. "Will try to be concise."

"Rambling has never been a real issue for you, Mordin," she said, trying to contain her amusement. "But when you're presenting, do you think you could slow down a bit? Maybe try speaking in complete sentences? I think that might make things easier for them to understand."

Mordin's mouth narrowed with concentration. When he answered her, his voice came out lower as if he was on a slow-motion instant replay. "Yeessss...I...can...speak...moooore...deliiiberaaately...althooough...it...requires...immenssse...effooort. I...am...eeeveeen...capable...of...commencing...sssentences...with...aaa...subject...although...it...seems...unnecessary...when...the...subject...is...implied.I...suppooossse...that...this...allooows...other...sentients...to...have...more...time...to...processss...complex...ideas."

"Um, Mordin?"

"Whaat...iss...your...concern...Shepaard?"

It was hard to tell if he was just messing around or if this was a serious attempt to placate her. The salarian was eerily good at keeping a straight-face through the most awkward conversations imaginable, a skill he'd likely picked up from his medical practice. Shepared could only imagine the weird things he must've encountered, diagnosed or quite possibly, probed, while running a clinic on Omega, of all places.

"Just ignore what I said," she told him. "Speak like you normally do. It's fine."

"Am relieved. Slow speech inefficient. Also tedious. Salarian neural processing fast compared to other species. Oral communication cannot keep pace with mental activity. Culturally, lengthy statements associated with pretension. Is presumptuous to waste others' time with unnecessary formalities. Goal to disseminate ideas. Focus on content."

"I see," she said. "I'm going to need to take the parts from the Reaper device. Where are they?"

Mordin blinked at her as if this was a completely absurd request. He started to toy with the samples on the counter, rearranging them into groups. "Have been extraordinarily productive. Developed an approach to extending salarian lifespan by estimated five - ten years. Quite proud of it, actually. Cardio-regulatory implants. Use of electro-magnetic pulses to stimulate nerve endings. Diet calculated to reduce metabolic rate. Genetic modification possible and addition of telomerase to aid in cellular replication."

He opened the first three buttons of his lab coat, proudly displaying a network of wires running along his waxy chest. A small red device was suctioned over his heart, emitting a gentle vibration. She remembered his insistence on staying in the lab to complete his work and the way he'd referred to the briefness of salarian lives. Mordin was struggling with his mortality and no doubt, the mental stress caused by the Reaper indoctrination device wasn't helping matters. He'd been working with it more closely than many of the others had.

"Mordin, are you okay? I'm not sure that I like the idea of you using yourself as a test subject."

"Little to lose and much to gain. Am aging at rapid pace. Want to live to witness Reapers defeated. Still too many problems without solutions. Have not discovered proof to Merton-Heannor Conjecture. Have not found feasible resolution to genophage conflict. Have not -"

"Calm down. I understand. Where's the Reaper device?" Shepard was surprised by the intensity of her voice. She hadn't meant to speak so loudly. Swallowing to ease her dry throat, she tried to relax her shoulders and ease up on the aggressive posture her body had assumed without her awareness. Shit, why was this getting her so wound up? She was tempted to write it off as nerves related to the prospect of public speaking, but she knew it wasn't that simple or innocent.

Mordin shook his head, curtly dismissive. "Too early to dispose of it, Shepard."

"I'll decide that."

"Further intense study required," he insisted. "Influence of device is not without benefits. Provides insight into advanced technology. Could be utilized to improve ship and develop research facilities. Intriguing ramifications for understanding of neurology and psychiatry. Possible to find means of countering indoctrination or of harnessing tech to alleviate mental disorders. Help patients who were formerly institutionalized to lead happy, productive lives..."

"That's not an answer, Mordin. Where is it?"

"Must consider how we can help others. Enormous potential. Would be unwise to squander opportunity for more knowledge."

Ignoring this argument, Shepard began searching the lab, flinging open the cupboard door underneath his lab station. There were only flasks, beakers, a well-used microscope and several other machines too specialized for her to identify. Undeterred, she stalked over to his curio cabinets and started rummaging through them, coming across a number of pickled organs in jars, a stuffed bird of prey, a dozen different anatomical sketchbooks, an intricate genealogical history of the Solus family...

Mordin raced after her, grabbing at her arm. "Stop! No! Intrusion deplorable! Unprofessional!"

She shouldered him away and went for the next series of cabinets, opening each of the metal doors. The device parts were neatly stacked on the center shelf of the third cabinet. She clutched them to her chest and they radiated a comforting warmth into her skin, as if she were lying out on a beach, basking in the sun. Perhaps there was something to what Mordin said. Perhaps the machine was more precious than she'd realized...she'd have to think about it after the big presentation.

"Stop. Now."

She felt something hard-edged and narrow poking into the small of her back. It took a second before she identified it as the muzzle of Mordin's Carnifex Hand-cannon, his side-arm of choice. How crazy was it was that she could identity most weapons in the galaxy based on how they felt when pressed against her skin? It was useful talent, though, and had occasionally impressed those stupid enough to think they could hold her hostage.

"Am doing this only for scientific progress, Shepard. Not personal. Put down device, raise hands and step away. Remember that aim is good - although, at this distance, would not matter. Do not wish to harm you. Will not kill but will debilitate if necessary."

"This is a bad idea. The device has been messing with your head. You have to know that this is wrong..." She stooped down slowly, trying not to alarm him, and set the device parts on the floor. Lifting her hands to show that they were empty, she moved a few steps forward as he'd demanded.

"Am aware of the dangers tech poses. Can assure you that I am not indoctrinated to Reaper cause. Only wish to preserve knowledge for greater good."

She smirked. This little mutiny felt surreal and almost comic, although she knew she wasn't supposed to take these things lightly. "I'm one of your patients, Dr. Solus. This has got be a violation of the Hippocratic Oath."

"Ah, yes. Human code of ethics for medical practitioners. Laudable. Have not done you harm, Shepard. Only threat of harm. A fine distinction perhaps, but technically correct."

"This isn't you, Mordin. It's the device. It's been playing on your fears. You used to be at peace with the idea of death. You spoke about a wheel of lives, remember? Each life you get another chance to be better, to correct past mistakes."

"Not afraid. Am now able to confront issue of mortality and resolve. No longer rely on spiritual platitudes for solace."

"You know that this is how it starts. EDI warned us that this might happen. You have to rely on your reason now. The device alters people's moods, changes their perspectives. Remember the symptoms?"

Mordin rattled them off with remarkable speed and precision. "Increased interest in cybernetic implants, erratic behaviour, antisocial tendencies, restlessness, unusual dreams, insomnia, mania or depressive episodes, repetitive or obsessive thought patterns, paranoia, delusions, hallucinations, marked increase or decrease in desire to eat, to take intoxicants or copulate, increased affinity for machines and technology..."

"Now diagnose yourself, doctor."

"Some indicators present. Potentially...problematic."

The pistol was no longer wedged into the space between her fifth and sixth vertebrae. She turned slowly, keeping her hands open and within Mordin's sight.

The doctor moved back a step, his finger still on the trigger, although he pointed the barrel at the floor. His eyes were even wider than usual, with a glassy sheen. He chewed on his narrow lips and the spidery creases along his cheekbones carved themselves deeper into his papery skin.

"That's why I need to take this thing away," she said. "Because if we keep it around too long, the effects will get worse. It's going to the Council session today and then it's gone. I promise you that you'll feel better."

He pondered this, cradling his gun in his hands. "I...yes, I see. You are...correct. Went too far. Blind arrogance. Belief in ability to counteract. Underestimated power of machine."

"I did too. Let's just hope it's been worth the risk."

"May be best that I do not present the material today. Will give you the device and my omni-tool slides. Should be sufficient to make case."

She watched as Mordin shuffled over to his lab table, returning with a data file she could insert into her omni-tool. From the hunch in his slight shoulders, she could tell that his fight with the device's power had exhausted him. It was a reminder that despite his frenetic energy, time was creeping up on the doctor. Still, she was careful not to bend down and pick up the Reaper device until he was out of striking range. Old man or not, Mordin was still dangerous, more proficient in combat than most fighters half his age.

"My apologies, Shepard. Do not know what came over me. Will investigate."

She nodded, already moving towards the door. It was probably best just to bundle the device up, gather the rest of the group and get going towards the Nexus Tower. Loitering around the ship would only make the situation worse.

"Don't worry about it. You had a rough day. Hell, Grunt did a lot worse to me the first time we met and he only had the tank as an excuse."

"Nevertheless, expect more rationality in own behaviour. Unacceptable. Will monitor conduct and correct as necessary. No need for further concern."

"Just take care of yourself, okay?"

The pressurized doors slid shut behind her, giving off a faint breeze. She paced down the corridor and onto the command deck. Heat radiated from the device in her hands and it was surprising how light and easy she found it to carry, as if the metal were grafted onto her flesh.

* * *

The Chamber of the Primarchs was quieter than it had been the first time Shepard had visited. Many of the marble benches sat empty and the semi-circular table where the Primarchs would gather still only featured their gold nameplates.

Garrus leaned back, propping his weight on his hands, and cast a glance up at the ceiling with its holographic map of the Hierarchy and its colonies. He appeared eager to examine it in-depth but also seemed anxious to avoid being caught gawking at the architecture like an off-world tourist. He looked away and bent his head towards Shepard, peering at the omni-tool slides over her shoulder. This was even more distracting since she was trying to decipher Mordin's speaker's notes, which read like hieroglyphics, Prothean, net-speak or some bizarre combination of the three. She opted to just ignore his ploys to secure her attention, hoping that he'd take the hint that she didn't want to mess around right now.

He didn't get the message. "Studying? I didn't realize the good doctor was trying to give you an education."

"Trying to study anyway," she said. "It would be a whole lot easier if a certain someone wasn't shifting around in his seat and poking me with his elbows and reading over my shoulder all the damn time."

"I'm interested," he protested. "It makes me proud to see you being such a diligent student. Expanding your mind and all that."

"Yeah, laugh it up. Just so you know, I'm going to have to give a speech on this in thirty minutes. If I get up there and draw a complete blank, I'll be introducing you as an expert on intergalactic macro-economics. We'll see how amusing you find that."

"Oh, I'd handle it. Couldn't be any worse than you making me dance."

She grinned, shaking her head. "Turns out I'm a real tough-case. How do you ever put up with me?"

Feigning a martyred sigh, he draped an arm around her shoulders. His voice tickled against her ear. "Guess I've built up a lot of patience."

"C'mon now, stop being a pest and let me learn this. I'll admire you later." She landed a quick kiss on the side of his face and swivelled on the bench, presenting her back as a barrier.

She re-focussed on the presentation, although she could hear Garrus picking on Tali about the possibility of becoming an Admiral with the flotilla. He really seemed to enjoy goading the quarian, probably because she gave some of the most amusing reactions, usually delivered in a tone of utmost seriousness.

"Keelah! Don't you have something to go calibrate?"

"No, I wish I did. That would be diverting. I don't suppose you quarians calibrate a lot of stuff on the Flotilla?"

"No. Just no. We're not having this conversation."

"Aw, that's too bad," he said in a tone of mock sympathy. "So tell me, how do you guys have fun over there? What are the parties like? Do you ever get people mixed-up? That must be realllly embarrassing."

"Shotgun, Garrus. Still have it."

"Not in the immediate vicinity. I'll risk it. What's life without a little danger?"

A few more turians wandered into the hall but this last council session was surprisingly quiet, most of the petitioners having already presented their cases to the Primarchs. Shepard wasn't sure if she found the relative quiet comforting or unnerving. If her presentation went well, she would've enjoyed a public triumph, the feeling of rallying a crowd and having their applause buoy up her argument. Of course, in her experience, turians were not nearly as receptive or open about their responses as quarians, so perhaps even the most rousing speech would've been greeted with blank-faced stares. In a worst-case scenario, if her attempts to persuade the Primarchs failed, she wouldn't have to worry about flaming out in front of a huge audience. She'd become a better public speaker as she'd risen through the Alliance ranks but she still found each occasion a struggle and had to remind herself to project her voice, to make eye contact, to pace herself and most of all, to keep a handle on her language, which could get pretty vulgar even on the best of days.

The Primarchs filed into the chamber and took their places around the mahogany table. Councillor Velarn sat in the middle, bookended by the Primarchs of Palaven and Invictus. He fixed Shepard with a cold glare, his arms folded across his chest. Invictus was watching her too, but her face was a mask of neutrality, offering no hint of the alliance they'd struck up behind the scenes. The lady was good, Shepard thought, although she wasn't fond of these new political friends she was making, whose primary talents seemed to be scheming, deception and the ability to distance themselves from a situation whenever things went wrong. In her mind, the skills necessary for political prowess and those required for genuine leadership had few things in common.

"The final session of the Primacy Council for this galactic standard year will now commence," the Primarch of Palaven said. "Today we shall be sitting judgment upon Commander Jillian Shepard's allegations of an incoming Reaper invasion and determining whether Fleet resources should be devoted to countering this supposed threat."

"I do hope that the Commander has brought us something more substantial than just rhetoric," Velarn muttered.

"I can promise you, I have!" Shepard shot to her feet, striding down the aisle to position herself directly in front of the Primarchs' table. "I've brought the evidence you asked for and more."

She removed the parts of the Reaper device from the bag, lining them up along the edge of an empty bench. Each piece of the machine caressed her hands with warmth and it took a concentrated effort to set them down on the cold marble.

"These are the remains of a Reaper indoctrination device. In its original state, it used dark energy to influence the thoughts and behaviour of Saren Arterius and his followers. This is one of the dangerous weapons the Reapers have in their arsenal. Technology like this is far too advanced to have come from any known civilization."

"What about the geth?" Velarn cut in.

Shepard reached down and fired up her omnitool, launching the slideshow Mordin had prepared. "I've fought the geth and they only acquired tools like this during their alliance with Sovereign and Saren. On their own, they don't have the resources to create something like this."

The colour scheme on the slideshow Mordin had devised was a distinctive mix of gold, blue and orange. It clashed and looked absolutely garish to Shepard's eyes, but the turians in the room seemed almost...entranced by the design. It occurred to her that this probably explained why turians had such terrible fashion sense. Smiling at this realization, she explained the research her team had done on the machine, taking care to emphasize the most crucial data.

"As you can see from this chart, my team calculated the amount of programming capacity that would be required to research, develop and acquire resources for an indoctrination device. In order to make something like this, the geth population would have to be five times higher than any past or current estimate and every single unit would have to be incorporated in the network at once. Otherwise, they couldn't muster up the necessary level of intelligence."

"That isn't impossible," Velarn persisted. "It's at least as credible as your Reaper theory."

"My crew members also took the time to figure out how much eezo would be required to power a ship the size of Sovereign for one month." Shepard clicked her omnitool to display a bar graph. "As you can see, it's more than the Hierarchy Fleet and the Systems Alliance combined used over the course of the last year. Saren may have been wealthy, but I doubt he'd be able to afford that kind of gas mileage. In any case, if that much eezo was moving out of the galactic economy, there would have been a severe shortage. There wasn't. The best explanation is that the eezo is coming from somewhere else, being produced by a civilization we don't know about – the Reapers."

"Perhaps the eezo does hail from an outside source," Palaven allowed. "However, it may be that the geth have discovered new sources of it in unexplored territory in the Terminus Systems."

Shepard tried not to lose her patience with the doddering old turian. It was obvious that Palaven had lost much of his political effectiveness and was close to being put out to pasture. She'd humour him. "Listening stations would've detected that level of mining activity, even in geth space. Besides, how would they have the resources to do all this mining, fight in Saren's invasion and create technology as advanced as what I've brought you here? It's impossible."

"It is a valid point," Invictus said. "It hardly seems realistic to imagine the geth achieving one of these objectives, let alone all of them. And it appears distinctly peculiar that they would accomplish all these wonders and then be vanquished so easily after the Battle of the Citadel."

It was nice to have an ally, Shepard thought. Now hopefully Invictus' colonial contingent would come through for them. She could imagine Velarn dooming the galaxy to ruin out of sheer stubbornness alone and Palaven siding with him out of loyalty to an old pal.

"It makes sense if you realize that the geth and Saren were relying on the Reapers for support. My team also recovered files documenting Saren's alliance with the Reapers and he talks about Sovereign and the indoctrination process. He also describes the geth worshipping the Reapers as the Old Machines, believing that their invasion would mean victory for synthetic life forms. The geth wouldn't follow Saren unless he was working with their gods."

She opened the file containing Saren's journal entries and read a few select passages. It was eerie to hear the dead Spectre's words echoed back in her own voice. He wrote as he had spoken in life and so she fell into the same cadences he had used, an unintentional imitation. She tried not to look at Garrus when she did it, although she could feel his eyes upon her, ever-watchful.

"Those writings could be fabricated," Velarn protested.

"Don't be absurd," Invictus shot back. "We asked for evidence and Commander Shepard delivered. If she brought a Reaper into this chamber and gave you a civil introduction, I suspect you'd still find a reason to doubt her."

"A Reaper crashed on the Citadel and that still wasn't enough evidence for the Council," Shepard said. "For whatever reason, they've decided to ignore this, to dismiss it. In order to make them listen, I'm going to need the support of the Primacy. We can beat the Reapers but we have to be prepared. If the Council can't or won't do it, then we've got to be the ones to lead the way."

The Primarch of Palaven initiated the final vote and the council marked their decisions down in their omni-tools. The deliberations took longer than Shepard expected it would, which made her decidedly nervous. While she waited, she placed the parts of the device back into the bag, savouring the heat against her fingertips. She was relieved that none of the Hierarchy officials had tried to confiscate the machine for study thus far, although she expected that it might happen. When they asked, she planned to assert her rights over it as a Spectre and simply offer the data that EDI and Mordin had collected on it as a compromise. If necessary, if they really pushed her, she'd have to just destroy the thing right then and there. The idea bothered her. It seemed wrong and undignified. She felt the need to be ceremonious, to give it a proper send-off – preferably one with a big bang.

"The votes are now in," Palaven announced. "By a total of 13 to 3, the Primacy has voted in favour of Fleet mobilization to counter the Reaper threat."

Shepard reeled around, grinning at Garrus and Tali, finding it hard not to laugh.

"Nice!" Garrus gave her a congratulatory thump on the back, his mandibles twitching up into what she recognized as a brash, full-on smile, at least by turian standards.

"I knew it. I just knew they couldn't ignore it forever," Tali babbled. "Now we'll have assistance. We'll have armies to help fight when the time comes..."

Velarn snorted. "Save your celebrations. The Primacy cannot overrule the decisions of the Citadel Council. Until the Council rules on this matter, the Fleet doesn't move."

"You forget, Councillor Velarn, that you are our representative," Invictus said. "You may not need our votes, but I think you may find your job substantially more difficult without the aid and resources of the colonies. If you refuse to defend us, then we will be forced to use our tax dollars and soldiers to take care of ourselves."

"You wouldn't dare to try such a thing," Palaven whinged. "That's secession!"

"It would be, yes."

Velarn's face settled into a scowl. He folded his arms over his chest, ready to dig his heels in. "You haven't got the nerve. No one would support you. They remember the Unification Wars. No one wants to go through that again."

Invictus stood and twelve other colonial Primarchs followed her lead. Only the Palaven, Velarn and one other colonial were left seated, looking meek and helpless compared to the faction who was preparing to walk out on them.

"In this case, you would be wise to respect the wishes of the Hierarchy, Councillor," Invictus stated, barely managing to conceal her bemusement. "No one wants to revisit the Unification Wars, especially not the good people of the Citadel. I suspect that they would rather set a new precedent and cast you off the Council than risk seeing the Hierarchy divided."

"I – believe they are serious," Palaven sputtered. "It seems to me, Velarn, that you should follow the Primacy's ruling in this matter. It is just and these are special circumstances."

"You should not only follow it, but advocate it to your fellow councillors," Invictus added. "The Fleet must be sent to defend our colonies against invasion. If you can't protect the Hierarchy and represent the turian race, then we shall have to seek out and appoint someone else who can."

Velarn chewed this over and it was obvious that it left a bad taste in his mouth. Nonetheless, he had little choice but to gulp it down with all the remaining dignity he could muster. The look on his face reminded Shepard of what Udina had looked like when she'd denied him that hotly-anticipated seat on the Council. Turians and humans weren't so damn different after all – at least when it came to being political animals.

"I have always faithfully served our Hierarchy," Velarn said. "While I have certain reservations, if...compromise is necessary, then I will do what is needed. For the good of the galaxy and the honour of my people."

Palaven's head bobbled on his thin neck and he suddenly reminded Shepard of nothing so much as a large featherless chicken. Until this moment, she'd never really understood the comparison of turians to flightless birds, which seemed to ignore the strange, rather leonine stateliness that most of them seemed to inherit as a birthright.

"The Fleet will mobilize in preparation for the Reaper threat," the old turian said. "You have received your answer, Commander Shepard."

She gave a slight bow, a sign of reverence that also served to hide the wicked smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you. Hierarchy's support is going to make all the difference in the fight against the Reapers. When they come, we'll be ready."

* * *

Beyond the Palaven Hills, dunes of white sand rippled into the distance, sculpted into slopes, curves and peaks by an arid west wind. Shepard plodded over the crest of a hill, carrying the Reaper device in the bag tossed over her shoulder. Under her exo-suit, sweat beaded down her forehead and trickled along her neck. It wasn't Therum-hot, but it was damn close. Even Garrus, who'd often praised his homeworld's climate and claimed to be baffled by her dislike of the intense sun, had been forced to admit that it was uncomfortable.

While the rest of the crew held an impromptu celebration around the bar in Kasumi's room, she'd stepped out to take care of some unfinished business. The device had served its purpose, but now it had to be destroyed for good, before the psychological impacts on the Normandy team became any worse. She'd intended to take the shuttle out on her own, but Garrus had insisted on joining her.

"I want to see this through to the end," he'd said, and she hadn't questioned him further. Although she would never have admitted it aloud, it was a relief to have company. She'd been looking forward to disposing of the device, but now that it was finally time to be rid of it, she felt uneasy and ambivalent. Anxious thoughts raced through her mind. The device told her things about the Reapers, provided insights that might be invaluable. With its help, she could sense them travelling across dark space and mark their progress. Perhaps she could find a way to mitigate the worst effects and simply use the machine as a means of monitoring the Reapers. It was just technology after all, like the FTL drives, the mass relays, the Reaper IFF...tools that they'd already used in the fight against their sinister creators.

Of course, that was what the machine wanted her to think, she reminded herself. It was worming around her head, attaching itself to her. She'd seen the way it'd played on everyone's worst fears, especially those of any crew member who'd been working in close proximity to it. If it'd affected Mordin, it could certainly get to her too. Aside from him, she'd been the one who'd been handling it the most often.

Garrus came to an abrupt halt. "I think we've gone far enough. Nobody's going to complain about a blast out here."

She sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right." Gazing down at the long tract of white sand, she knew she should drop the bag and start setting up the charges. It was the right thing to do. It was the smart thing to do. But for some reason, her gloved hands still gripped the cloth of the bag, despite the best of intentions and all her very admirable logic.

"Are you going to put that thing down?" Garrus asked.

"Of course. I know that I...have to do this." Her arms hugged around the device, drawing it closer to her chest. Its nearness calmed her and for a moment, its warmth seemed to palpitate against her body like a second heartbeat.

"Then what're we waiting for? Let's get this done and get back to the festivities."

"I just need a moment. To pull myself together."

He shook his head, taking a measured step towards her. "You're acting pretty strange. I thought you'd be happy to get rid of that piece of junk."

"I am."

"C'mon, pass it to me then. I can take care of it."

Garrus reached for the device, trying to wrench it away from her, but she pulled free from him, stumbling a few steps backward. Why couldn't he see how difficult this was for her? She just needed some time to contemplate this decision, which she knew was a major one. If she destroyed the device, there'd be no going back, no recovering it. She'd never have it again, that surge of power and certainty and reassurance that she felt when she knew it was in her possession. "Relax. Can you do that for once? Or do you always have to be so impatient?"

"I'm not giving up on this," he said. "I'm staying right here with you until we get this done. We need to scrap that machine. It's dangerous and you know it."

"It's not going to get any more dangerous in the next five minutes," she replied. "I just want to think things over. Get my head straight. I don't think that's too much to ask."

"Remember what I was like when we went after Sidonis? Well, you're being like that now. This isn't you, Jill. I won't let you do this."

"Do what? I'm not doing anything."

"If you keep that thing, you're going to become indoctrinated. I'll bet the Reapers would enjoy the irony. You're rallying armies for the big fight, but the whole time you're getting brainwashed to work for them."

"I'm not brainwashed," she insisted. "I'm not Saren."

"No, you're not. You're nothing like that. But I love you, damn it, and I never want to see you get pulled down that path. You're too good to let this bring you down. Don't do it now. Not when we've come so far."

Her hands were clenched around the device so tightly that they looked like claws, veins bulging under skin, knuckles striped white and purplish-red. It pained her to see them and yet she couldn't slacken the muscles. "When I break this thing, it's gonna hurt like a bitch," she murmured. "I can feel it, Garrus."

Garrus edged towards her. "It's alright. Just drop it. Let me take care of it. I haven't been as affected as you." His hands palmed her shoulders, caressing them and then he gave her a gentle shake, as if to rouse her. "Do this for me. For us. For everything that's gone right."

"Okay," she said, swallowing. "I know. I have to do this." It took effort but she managed to loosen her grip on the bag, prying her fingers away from the cloth. The machine parts fell to the sand, giving a dull clang. The sound pained her, as if the metal had struck against her skull.

Garrus' arms encircled her and she could feel his chest move with a sigh of relief. "Good. This is good. We're gonna be alright."

She nodded her head, trying to reassure herself that this was true, although she knew that if he let go of her, if he turned away, every nerve in her body would scream out for the device. "I'm sorry. I screwed up. I...can't be trusted with that thing."

"I know," he said gravely. "It's got you hooked in."

She drew in a sharp breath, astonished as he lifted her off the ground in an ungainly bear-hug, carrying her away from the machine with the toes of her boots still dragging along the sand. "C'mon. What are you doing? I can still walk, you know..."

"It's easier this way. Besides, it's nice to take charge sometimes." He set her down a few feet away, regarding her face with an earnestness that completely disarmed her. He stooped down to nudge his forehead against the clear visor of her suit, an instinctively turian gesture but one that she'd come to appreciate and understand. When he spoke, his voice was a soft rasp, the sound of the sand sifting around their legs. "Sit tight, okay? I can handle this. Just stay here."

"I'm sorry. I let you down. I should've known better..."

"Don't apologize. Never to me. You've pulled my ass out of the fire so many times I've stopped counting. I'm glad when I can return the favour."

Garrus released her, swinging around to claim the machine. He scooped it up and strode up the side of the dune, long legs scissoring over the sand, until, clearing the crest of the hill, he disappeared from view.

Shepard ground her teeth together and locked her knees, willing herself to stand in place although she longed to chase him down. She stared into the glare of sun, stricken but defiant, focussing her mind on the orange and red spots that flickered across her vision, beads in a kaleidoscope. Yet, despite her best efforts, she still found herself imagining what was happening just over that last dune. She could picture Garrus' steady hands readying the charges, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed with concentration. In a few moments, her link with the Reapers would be severed. She would be free again. The visions would cease to intrude upon her waking thoughts and the dreams would blow away like dust. She would be able to come back to herself and to him, the man who had earned her trust, her devotion, a love that she'd never anticipated but that now seemed as natural to her as the blood pumping in her veins. That was what she stood to lose if she couldn't get a grip on herself.

Garrus bounded back up the side of the hill, a black box gripped in his fist. It was the detonator. She had to resist a sudden compulsion to rush forward and pry it out of his hand.

"Ready?" he said.

"As ready as I'm ever going to be."

He opened her hand and placed the detonator into the hollow of her palm. "I know it isn't going to be easy, but you need to do this. If you want to beat this, you have to choose it."

She nodded, contemplating the red button at the center of the detonator. "You're right. You can only carry me so far. I've got to finish this."

"It's your choice to make, Jill. Be sure it's the right one."

Thinking back to their confrontation with Sidonis, she could remember the instant when the traitor had broken away from the cover of her body, giving Garrus a clear shot. She'd braced herself, counting the steps Sidonis took as if they were drumbeats, wondering when the bullet would drill into the back of his skull. It wasn't until he was out of sight, that she was certain that there'd been a reprieve, unfamiliar mercy from the man who'd so often insisted on exacting justice, an eye for an eye. In the end, the choice had been Garrus', not hers, although she'd prodded him towards it. It was how she'd known that he could find a way back from the dark room where he'd sequestered himself, mourning the massacre of his team. It was then, too, that she'd realized how intertwined they'd become, the way their lives and choices had melded together until it was hard to distinguish where he stopped and she began. They'd taken responsibility for another, a commitment more expansive than the respect a soldier owed to his leader or the duty a commander pledged to her lieutenant. Somewhere along the way, they'd claimed each other and there was no going back. All this impact coming from a bullet that had never been fired – his silent choice.

Now, it was her turn to decide. She wasn't going to let him down. "I choose us. I choose you."

She slammed her hand down on the red button, pulling him to the ground. The sound of the blast swept over them like a wave, the air seething around them. Fire flared over the dune and then black whorls of smoke muddied the desert sky, specks of ash swarming, frantic as flies over a fresh kill. She'd felt the death pangs of the machine searing her insides, but it'd been worth the momentary pain. Her mind was clear again and her vision unclouded. The future was hers. Theirs.

"It's done," she said. "Not a moment too soon."

"I knew you'd come through. You always do."

"Mostly because you're there to catch me when I fall."

He offered his hand, pulling her back up to her feet. "It works both ways, but I'll admit - I have my moments."

"A lot of them," she said, smiling. "You okay? Still in one piece?"

"Of course. The only problem is this bloody sand," Garrus muttered, dusting himself off. "Itches like crazy."

He squirmed in his armour, shaking sand out of his shoulder-plates and then preened his fringe with a prideful fastidiousness that seemed almost feline.

She laughed and coughed and then laughed again, disregarding her parched throat.

His pale eyes locked on hers. "This isn't funny, you know. Not at all."

She shook her head, trying to stifle another giggle but his apparent solemnity made it virtually impossible. "Nooooo. Not funny. Not even a little bit. "

"You're definitely mocking me," he said, with an air of wounded dignity. "Well, we'll see about that..."

Garrus launched himself at her with the speed of a predator and she sprinted away, making it a good fifty meters before he managed to grab her legs and tackle her. She shrieked with laughter, kicking her feet as he tried to pour a handful of sand into her suit. "Don't! Don't you dare! Oh, I'm so going to get you! You are in for a world of pain, Vakarian!"

Shepard dug her hand into the ground and flung a fistful of dirt at him, startling him just enough to tug her body free from his weight. Scurrying up another dune, she pulled out her trusty assault rifle and fired a concussive round that knocked him flat on his ass.

"Aw, crap," he groaned, dust rising around him. "Now you just fight dirty."

She ran down and kicked a little bit more sand on him, just to rub it in. "I learned that trick from this real bad-ass vigilante I used to know. Called himself Archangel. He used to hit me with concussive rounds just for kicks."

"Really? Must've been a nasty piece of work. I like his style." He grabbed her leg, sending her toppling into the sand beside him. He gave a triumphant chuckle and she lay there beside him, laughing until her sides felt like split seams and her lungs burned.

"Yup, that Archangel was a pain in the ass," she murmured. "Though I've got to admit, he was kind of sexy."

"Hmm. I wasn't aware. Wasn't he a _turian_?"

She shrugged her shoulders, turning her face to shoot him a lopsided grin. "Naturally. A ruggedly handsome turian. Did you know him?"

"No. I've never had the pleasure."

"That's too bad. Now, if I ever ran into him again, I'd be sure to have a lot of pleasure..."

He sat up, giving her a disapproving shake of his head, before he worked his way back up to his feet. "You're making me jealous. Of myself. That's pretty messed up."

Shepard got up and trailed him back towards the shuttle, still intent on taunting him. "Mmm, yeah, that Archangel – definitely a guy I'd like to invite back to my bunk. So mysterious. So well-armed. And that intriguing voice..."

"That's my intriguing voice."

"You have a nice voice, but his is different. More flanging. Very seductive."

"Alright, if you say so."

"Well, you do look like him. A bit," she teased. "Especially if I put a helmet over your head."

"That's because I am him. And when I was Archangel, I wore a helmet most of the time."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Totally believe you."

He stalked into the shuttle, slumping down on the nearest bench. "I'm not going to win this one, am I? I'd be better off waiting until you stop being so juvenile."

"Yeah, probably," Shepard admitted, sliding the shuttle door closed behind her. "Good luck with that. It'll be a long wait." She breathed a long sigh, pulling off her helmet and running a hand through her hair. "Guess we'd better get back to the Normandy. It'll be hard to manage the shuttle, when I'm so distracted fantasizing about Archangel..."

"I hate that bastard. Just so you know. Even if he is me."

"Really? You hate him? Because I love him." She threw him a wink and started programming the shuttle's return. There was a party awaiting them back at the ship and she could use a good stiff drink or at the very least, a nice glass of Tupari to slake her thirst, restore her faith in the galaxy and bring her ancestors back from the grave. They'd have to raise a toast to Palaven – its insufferable heat, its striking architecture, its bewildering rituals and demanding elders, its uncanny ability to tangle her mind and twist her heart, its culture, capable of producing a crazy fucking diamond like Garrus Vakarian and then throwing him away like a chunk of coal. It'd been a productive trip and an eye-opening one, but she wasn't going to miss the planet. When the Normandy pulled out of port and set course for the Citadel, she knew that the best part of Palaven would be standing right beside her, ready for whatever came their way.

* * *

_Author's Note: Hey everyone! First of all, I'd like to say a huge thanks for reading and reviewing! I'm sorry for the extended wait on this latest installment. For some reason, this chapter was the hardest one to write for me (at some parts, it felt less like writing and more like grinding out each sentence...ugh, word marathons!) and I imagine it's going to be the one that I come back to revise more than a few times._

_ The next chapter has some events I'm very excited to get started on and with any luck, it won't be nearly so long in development. Once again, thanks for your great feedback, comments and ideas! _


	17. Unconquered

Shepard read the poem again, dwelling on the final two lines, which had acquired a new meaning for her after her final days on Palaven. _I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. _She'd never had cause to doubt either of those assertions until very recently, and it was wonderful to be able to reaffirm her liberty to choose, unhindered by the Reapers' indoctrination device or the prejudices of two contending cultures. She was free to love whom she pleased and to continue with her mission, one that would determine more than just her own fate, but also that of humans, turians and all the other sentient species in the galaxy.

"Invictus" – according to the note at the bottom of the page, it meant "unconquered" in Latin. It was a good name for the poem and even better one for the colony that had led the charge to mobilize the Hierarchy Fleet for the fight against the Reapers. Before leaving Palaven, she'd sent a translated copy to the Primarch of Invictus to express her thanks and as a show of support. The original she planned to keep and bring with her to Ash's memorial site when she finally had the chance to visit Amaterasu.

She tucked the poem the back into her desk drawer and strapped on her black stilettos, adjusting her balance to compensate for the slender three-inch heels. It wasn't often that she had occasion to gussy herself up and she felt nervous about the impression she'd make in her dress, the same clingy little black number that Kasumi had talked her into wearing for the gala at Donovan Hock's mansion. She'd tried on practically every other outfit in her wardrobe, but this was the only one that felt special enough for the evening she had planned.

Walking into the bathroom, she checked her make-up in the mirror again, applying another swipe of lip-gloss. She wasn't sure what Garrus thought of human beauty routines or high heels – perhaps he'd dismiss it as artifice, vanity or just sheer silliness - but fussing over these things gave her a peculiar sense of satisfaction and control, as if she could influence the outcome of the night through her choice of eyeshadow or the way she styled her hair. She was pleased with how the kohl accentuated the shape of her eyes, making them appear large and liquid. Hell, even if Garrus didn't like the change, he'd be sure to have a bit of a surprise when he saw her.

Shepard collected her credit chit and ventured out the door, teetering on the stilettos as she sealed the room behind her. She generally wore a clunky pair of combat boots and she was grateful not to have to fight in these impractical but very stylish shoes. She didn't know how Miranda managed it. Perhaps they'd engineered a special gene for walking in heels? Putting a sway in her step, Shepard finally managed to find the particular combination of momentum and self-assurance necessary for balancing in fashionable footwear. By the time she reached the elevator, she felt confident and even glamorous, a word she wouldn't have usually associated with herself or her life on the Normandy.

Stepping off the elevator at the command deck, she was surprised to see Kelly still busy at work.

"Kelly, what are you still doing here? You have the night off. Go have some fun. You're young and we're on the Citadel. It's not as if you don't have plenty of options..."

Kelly gaped at her, her blue eyes round with incredulity. "What? Wow. You look gorgeous. And the shoes are to die for! I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress before, Commander. Is this a special occasion? It can't be anyone's birthday. I never miss crew birthdays..."

Shepard grinned, her cheeks getting warm with embarrassment. She wasn't fond of sharing her personal life, especially with the ship's most prolific gossip, and decided it would be best to segue into another topic. "No, you didn't miss anyone's birthday. But I would be interested in discovering why you're still here. I appreciate duty, Kelly, but you've gotta enjoy shore leave while you've got it. There aren't going to be too many more opportunities for this kind of thing."

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm just finishing up a few chores. Besides, I'm staying in tonight anyway. You may not think it to look at me, but I'm really kind of a homebody. Joker, Tali, Miranda and I are going to make popcorn and watch some vids. You're a bit overdressed, but you're invited too, if you want to join us..."

Shepard was surprised to hear that Miranda would condescend to such plebeian pursuits as Normandy movie nights, but Operative Lawson recently had been making progress in chipping away at her ice-queen persona. At the latest crew meeting, she'd chatted up Mordin about his STG glory days and she hadn't resorted to her usual cutting remarks when Jacob and Kasumi had started openly dating. Even her interactions with Jack were noticeably more civil and Bing no longer growled every time the former Cerberus officer was in the room. Considering Miranda's persistence and compulsion to overachieve, it wasn't surprising that she'd show the same drive in her newfound quest for popularity, although Shepard still found it weird to see her playing nice with others.

"Thanks for the offer, Kelly. Movie night sounds fun, but I've got some plans lined up. Hence, the dress and the war-paint."

Kelly gave an approving nod, flipping her hair like a high-school girl."It's a whole new side of you. I'm sure Garrus will love it."

The flush in Shepard's cheeks deepened, the heat tingling under her skin and spreading up to her forehead. "Guess I'll find out," she murmured. "Have a good night, Kelly."

"You have a _great_ night, Commander..." the yeoman sang out.

Shepard strode up to the cockpit, amused at the unfamiliar click of her heels against the deck grates. If Joker was getting up to something that he wasn't supposed to, he'd have ample warning of her approach. She'd practically kicked Garrus out of their shared room in her eagerness to surprise him, informing him that they'd meet over at the airlock at 1800 hours.

It wasn't until she was halfway down the hall that she saw Joker wasn't alone and by then it was too late to head back in the opposite direction. It wouldn't have done much good anyway. Kaidan had already spotted her. He paused in the middle of his conversation with the pilot to glance at her, his smile waning at her approach.

Joker noticed the change in Alenko's expression and spun around in his padded leather chair. "Hey lady, you're not supposed to be here. This is a military vessel. Normandy crew only."

"Always the smart-ass," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "You just can't help it, can you?"

Joker screwed up his lips and furrowed his brow, as if trying to place her. An idea struck him and he snapped his fingers, pointing at her with an unsteady hand. "Wait...maybe...Commander Shepard? Is that you? I'm going to have to do an ID scan just to check. That could be anyone wearing your skin..." He turned to the console, fumbling around as if looking for his omni-tool.

"Cut the gags, Joker. I don't look that different."

"Uh, yeah, you do. Geez, Shepard, I'm starting to think that crazy indoctrination device might have turned you into a _girl._ If you start accessorizing, I'm going to be really, really scared."

Shepard sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling as if looking to the heavens for intercession. Usually Joker's cracks didn't bother her, but he did have a way of hitting people's sensitive spots. Three sentences out of him and she was feeling about as sexy as a krogan transvestite.

Joker noticed her frown. "Shit. Sorry. I don't mean it like that. I just meant that you, uh - you clean up good, Commander."

"Are you leaving the ship?" Kaidan inquired.

"Just for a bit. Miranda will be running things while I'm out."

"I see," he said, eyeing her cautiously. He looked over the Normandy's navigation console, suddenly fascinated by instruments he'd seen a thousand times before. "Well, I hope you – have a good time. You look...very nice, Jill."

She was taken aback by this sudden generosity, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she shouldn't have been surprised. Kaidan was a good man and he'd never been inclined to hold a grudge. She'd offered him the opportunity to leave the Normandy and return to the Alliance, but he'd insisted on staying the course. He'd even started to build some new friendships on the Normandy, particularly with Jacob, whose mellow, understated style seemed to match his own.

Shepard sensed Garrus walking up behind her before even he said a word. Despite his soft tread, his tall frame cast a long shadow, blocking the light as he loomed over her. She reeled around, relieved at his timely arrival. He looked dashing in his favourite suit, which also happened to be his only suit. There was little need for formal wear on the Normandy and he'd had even less reason to dress up during his escapades on Omega. The clothes were the same ones he'd worn when they'd first "blown off steam" and the sight of him in them brought a smile to her face. It was easy to remember just how nervous he'd been, bounding around her room with that wine bottle in hand, trying to be suave and coming off as anything but.

When Garrus caught a glimpse of her, he gave a sudden start and a funny sound escaped his mouth, part gasp and part hiccup. She had trouble discerning whether this was a good response or a very unfortunate one, but she supposed that she'd find out later, when they didn't have an audience.

"Just the guy I was searching for," she said. "You're looking stylish as ever. Ready to go?"

"Yeah," he nodded, still catching his breath. "Definitely."

"Bring her back by curfew," Joker said.

Garrus gave a nervous chuckle. "Sure thing, Moreau."

The pilot pulled his ball-cap down over his eyebrows, his pert face taking on a bulldog stubbornness. "I'm serious. It's a week night."

With that oddly paternal benediction from their pilot, they escaped out the airlock and entered decontamination. The blue light of the scanners flickered over their faces.

"I should probably have mentioned this before, but you look very beautiful tonight," Garrus murmured, his hand touching her waist.

Shepard looked down, her lips pressed together in a smile, suddenly feeling a bit shy. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

"That, uh, dress? It really shows off your hips. And I've never seen you with a painted face before. What do the colours mean?"

She paused, trying to think up a decent explanation for what any human suitor would have understood immediately, instinctively, as signs of desire. "They just mean that I was excited to be with you. That I wanted everything to be special."

His gaze met hers, his eyes appearing otherworldly, almost crystalline, in the faint light of decontamination. She found him difficult to fathom, something of a cipher even now that they shared a room and a bed, but that mystery was half the appeal. "I don't think you need to worry about that, Jill. It's special just as it is."

The doors slid open and they walked out into the docking outside Zakera Ward. They'd approached the security gates when a voice piped up from the group of people waiting to enter the wards. "Commander Shepard! Commander!"

Shepard turned to her left, spotting a smartly dressed woman holding a microphone, a small vid cam hovering behind her. With her grey blazer and shellacked, helmet-like coif, the lady couldn't have looked any more like a reporter if she'd tried. The assembled crowd turned to gawk at the famous Saviour of the Citadel and the turian who was rumoured to be her lover.

"Crap," Garrus muttered, shrinking away from the onlookers. "Damn journalists keeping popping up like pyjaks."

The reporter either missed this comment or pretended not to hear it. "I'm Ayelet Zimmer, reporting for Bluestar Newscorp," she stated by way of introduction, before pouncing on Shepard with her first question. "Commander Shepard, what you do have to say to rumours that you have turned your allegiance over to the Turian Hierarchy?"

The vid cam cast a cold white light over Shepard's face and she knew that she was penned in, with no means of escape unless she pushed through the crowd. She gazed into the cam's round black lens the way she might stare down the barrel of a pistol. From her peripheral vision, she saw Garrus turning away, trying to make his presence less obtrusive - as if it were possible for a seven-foot-tall turian to avoid notice.

"I'm a human and a veteran of the Systems Alliance so, of course, the well-being and continued development of humanity is extremely important to me," Shepard replied. "As a Spectre, it's my job to ensure the galaxy is a safe place for all species. My recent trip to Palaven was a diplomatic mission and I was there to look out for galactic defence. That's in everyone's best interests, whether you're human, turian or hanar."

The reporter tapped at her omni-tool, directing the camera to pan slightly to the right. It was evident that she intended to capture Garrus on camera, whether he liked it or not. "I notice you're accompanied by Officer Vakarian this evening. There have been allegations that the two of you are romantically involved. Would you like to offer a response?"

A single answer presented itself in Shepard's mind. Actually, scratch that – there were two possibilities, but the second one was to acquaint this wide-eyed cub reporter with her right fist, a mistake that she'd sworn she wouldn't repeat. Ruling that out, only one solution remained.

"Sorry, but I don't kiss-and-tell," Shepard said, shooting the camera an enigmatic smile. She reached back and clasped Garrus' hand in full-view of the crowd. His eyes met hers, his mouth opening slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he simply nodded, stroking his thumb over her fingers as they strolled towards the security gates, the crowd clearing a path before them, perhaps out of politeness or maybe just to avoid the cut of the turian's broad shoulders.

Behind them, the reporter babbled into her microphone, thrilled at the prospect of having scooped the major players at Citadel NewsNet and the Westerlund News. "You saw it here first: Commander Jillian Shepard spotted walking hand-in-talon with turian crew member, Garrus Vakarian on what appeared to be a date! Is this just another instance of Spectres playing by their own rules or does this mean that interspecies relationships are becoming a part of the mainstream in our diverse galactic community? The xenosexual rights groups have already made major in-roads here on the Citadel and the movement has started to appear in major cities on Earth. Here at Bluestar, we want to know what you think. Do you support relationships between humans and aliens? Would you consider dating a sentient being of another species? Talk back in our comments section!"

Once they were clear of the security gates and the intrusive audience, Garrus finally regained his voice. "So, uh, that caused a bit of stir."

"Does it bother you?"

"Nah. I'm not too fond of getting attacked by cameras, but it could be worse. They could be using gunships. I was more concerned about you. I don't want to get you into hot water with the Alliance."

"I'm proud to be with you, Garrus. I'm not going to hide it. I don't think I could pull it off, even if I tried. Besides, you and I can't always play by other people's rules. Especially the stupid ones."

He squeezed her hand, shortening his stride to match her own. "Good point. That settles it then. Everything out in the open, rules be damned." She could tell that he savoured the opportunity to say that, one of the few occasions when he could get away with it under her command. They walked through the wards, attracting looks from a few passersby, although their obvious romantic attachment didn't cause nearly as much commotion as one might've expected. For the most part, the citizens of the Citadel were difficult to shock, cosmopolitans who adopted a seen-it-all weariness in response to the barrage of cultures and languages they were confronted with each day. As they went by Synthetic Solutions, Shepard couldn't help but notice the way Garrus puffed out his chest, staring down a human male who dared to ogle her, as if issuing a challenge. The man looked away, fidgeting with his credit chit, and the turian chuckled to himself, vindicated.

"Was that really necessary?" she whispered, her mind flashing back to Garrus' interrogation of Harkin. His turian military training had certainly informed him of the best ways to menace and pulverize human men, including a sharp knee to the groin that had made even Shepard cringe in sympathy – and she loathed Harkin.

"Probably not," Garrus admitted. "Can't say I blame the poor bastard for looking. Doesn't mean I have to like it though."

As they rounded a corner, they stepped too close to the advertisement screens and on cue, the glass cylinders lit up with colourful images. "Officer Vakarian, you have a reputation as a man of action," a sloe-eyed turian woman cooed from one of the screens. She held up a jar of blue goop, caressing it with her talons. "So when it's time to impress your mate, why don't you showcase your natural endowments with _Fringe Benefits_, the only serum proven to enhance the size and texture of your fringe? With daily use, even lacklustre or thinning fringe can become vibrant and healthy, just as the spirits intended! Buy today and the lovely Commander Shepard is sure to promote you to a higher rank...in her affections. _Fringe Benefits_ - it's what you deserve."

A solemn-looking asari appeared on the screen beside Shepard, her gaunt cheeks and the thin lines that bracketed her mouth placing her firmly in the matron stage. "I don't have to tell you that it's a dangerous galaxy out there. Accidents can happen when you least expect it. Commander Shepard, the first time you died, your loved ones were left to face the difficult burden of funeral costs and other expenses. Next time, why not leave them with happy memories instead of unpaid debts? You may not have a thousand-year life span, but you can plan ahead today to ensure that your family and friends are protected. Ilium Springs is here for you. We've been the galaxy's leading provider of life insurance for over two millennia. Trust Ilium Springs and you can embrace eternity knowing that your legacy is secure."

Shepard laughed, trying to dismiss her misgivings. The new ad tech was downright eerie, especially since it had the tendency to chatter on about her death, as if it was as ordinary and routine as doing the laundry. "What do you think? Should I get life insurance? Sounds like the responsible thing to do."

"I doubt they'd take you on. Too much risk. I don't even want to think about the premiums." Garrus shook his head ruefully, as if contemplating the credits that would be squandered, money that'd no doubt be better spent on weapons systems."Besides, keeping you alive and kicking is my top priority. Well, along with maintaining my glorious fringe. After all, I've got plans for you."

She arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate but he didn't say anything more. "Plans? What sort of plans? Don't keep me in suspense."

"Why not? I think it might be fun."

"I could order you to tell me," she teased. "I am still your superior officer, you know."

He darted a glance over his shoulder. For a second, she thought it was just a ploy to change the subject but then she heard something shuffling along behind them.

Garrus' voice came as a low rumble, a guttural sound. "Someone following us. Human female. Just ducked back around the corner."

"Let's keep going and see if we can catch her in the act," Shepard whispered.

They walked on, listening for the sound of footsteps behind them. Sure enough, Shepard heard something tap against the cement. She spun around and saw a woman wearing tinted glasses and a green beret that didn't quite manage to obscure her dark hair. The woman tried to run but Shepard was faster, lunging forward and slamming her against a nearby advertising screen. A commercial started up in the background showing a hanar standing in front of a pulpit. "Have you ever felt lost, adrift in a sea of meaninglessness and chaos? Have the trials of this difficult life left you bruised and battered, bereft of hope? If so, Ms. Al-Jilani, you are not alone. This one wishes to tell you of the redemptive love of the Enkindlers..."

Shepard pulled the hat off the reporter's head, knocking the glasses from the bridge of her nose in the process. A pair of close-set brown eyes glared at her, going almost cross-eyed with spite.

"Khalisa Ben Sima Al-Jilani of the Westerlund News," Shepard said, indulging in a mocking grin. "I was wondering when we'd meet again."

"Let me go. I have as much a right to be here as you do, Shepard."

"Maybe so, but I think you owe us an explanation." Garrus pulled a holo-cam from the woman's hands and turned it over, examining it. "It's pretty inconsiderate to go invading other people's privacy. Taking pictures without permission and posting them on the extranet - that's a violation of our rights, don't you think?"

"The people have a right to know the truth about the first human Spectre!" Al-Jilani said. Her words were bold, dripping with indignant, but she cowered against the wall, her small eyes narrowing to slits as if anticipating Shepard's fist to collide with her face at any moment.

Shepard smirked. "I'm not planning to hit you. I just think you may want to practice more ethical journalism in the future. I figured I'd give you an opportunity to retract some of your statements."

"Not happening," Al-Jilani said. "I stand by everything I've broadcast or published."

"As I recall, you made some incorrect statements about the commander. Stuff that was really out-of-line," Garrus answered. "Plus, you misspelled my name. I hate that." As he paced before her, he juggled the holo-cam from hand to hand, occasionally catching it a second late, sometimes feigning as if he might suddenly lose his co-ordination and drop it.

"For future reference, it's written G-a-double r-u-s V-a-k-a-r-i-a-n," Shepard noted.

Garrus shot her a conspiratorial glance, twirling the holo-cam in one hand. His talons scraped over the plastic frame, a sound almost as obnoxious as fingernails down a chalkboard. "What do you think we should do with this camera?"

"Give it back," Al-Jilani answered. "It's property of the Westerlund News. You touch it and..."

"And what?" Shepard cut in. "Are you going to write another article full of your snide insinuations? Go and denounce me to the Terra Firma Party because I'm not a good enough human?"

"Tell the alien to give me back the camera."

"Ask nice," Garrus said.

Al-Jilani scowled. "I'm not talking to you, turian."

"I don't think you're getting that camera back. Not unless you change your attitude. Why don't you ask Garrus for the camera...and this time, be sure to say 'please'."

The woman glared at Shepard, not deigning to even look at Garrus. "Not a chance," she hissed.

Garrus' hand opened and the camera fell to the ground. He lifted his foot, allowing it to hover over the machine for one tantalizing second, and then his boot came down on top of it. The glass lens shattered and the plastic frame gave a satisfying crunch. "Unfortunate. I'll bet you had some stellar photo-journalism on there. Or maybe just some lame self-portraits for your extranet page."

"You bitch!" Al-Jilani shrieked. She seemed determined to ignore Garrus, making Shepard the object of her fury. "You're not human. Not anymore. You're just a turian's whore!"

"You shut your damn mouth," Garrus snarled.

Shepard had shifted her weight to the side, her arm drawing back as her hand balled into a tight fist. The muscles in her shoulder were tensed and her hips had turned, as if of their own accord, ready to swing into the strike. Gazing down at her fist, she contemplated the white knobs of her knuckles and a forked vein that showed greenish-blue through her pale skin. Her hand trembled there a minute and then she lowered her arm and let go of Al-Jilani. "It's not worth it. I'd just get my hands dirty."

Al-Jilani scuttled back, an impertinent sneer working its way across her face, although her hands were still raised to defend herself.

"You're lucky the commander is in a forgiving mood," Garrus told her.

Shepard turned her back on the reporter and was about to walk away when she heard the woman mutter something her breath. Some of the words were indistinct, but she caught enough of it to be appalled and it took a hell of a lot to offend her. Spinning around, she stared at Al-Jilani. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," the reporter mumbled, already trying to shirk responsibility. She clearly regretted her slip of the tongue, but as always, the woman just couldn't resist an extra twist of the dagger, a final passive aggressive jab when she thought her enemies were on the retreat.

"No, I definitely heard something," Shepard said.

"I did too," Garrus added. "Something really crude. Not lady-like at all."

Al-Jilani backed away but Shepard caught hold of her arm, nearly wrenching from the socket. "Repeat what you said. For the record."

"Nothing! I didn't say anything." Al-Jilani writhed in Shepard's grasp, clawing at her dress as she struggled to free herself.

Shepard kicked her in the shin with one of her stiletto heels and the woman screeched in pain. "Say it," she demanded. "Say it, you sad little worm."

Having no more illusions of a quick escape, Al-Jilani straightened her spine and decided to take her medicine. This sudden reckless courage might've impressed Shepard if it wasn't wrapped in such a poisonous little package. Al-Jilani's dark, snaky eyes glinted with malice and every word out of her tightly-drawn lips seemed to drip venom. "For the record, I said: 'Go get fucked by that scarred-up monster. I hope those nasty scales rip you up and you die choking on his load.' That's everything. Happy, you bitch?"

"No, not yet," Shepard said. Her fist shot forward and bashed into the reporter's nose, cartilage cracking under her knuckles. Al-Jilani groaned, stumbling back, her hands clutching at her face, trying to stop the blood spurting from her nostrils.

"You-you-you broke my nose!" Al-Jilani sputtered.

Shepard smiled, assessing her handiwork. It was true. The reporter's nose, which had been long and straight as a ruler, had been flattened to look more like a dented shovel and had taken a sharp curve to the right. "Yup. I sure did."

"This is assault! It's a crime! I'll tell C-Sec," the reporter cried, tripping as she scurried away. She quickly recovered herself and continued running, still snivelling as blood dribbled from her bashed-in schnoz, then dodged around a corner and disappeared from sight.

"Ohhh, C-Sec won't like all that paperwork," Garrus said. "Especially since they can't charge you with a damn thing. Must be nice to be a Spectre."

Shepard chuckled. "Well, you know, Garrus, the Reapers are coming and the Council can be a real pain in the ass, but sometimes there _are_ perks to this job."

Garrus draped an arm around her shoulders, his hand reaching up to stroke the side of her head. It was nice to feel his talons raking gently through her hair. He feigned a put-upon sigh. "You know, I'm glad you hit her, but after this, I feel like we've gotta draw a line. From now on, no more beating on journalists. Let's try kicking the shit out of some other profession. Like politicians. Or better yet, defence lawyers."

"Alright, maybe you've got a point. Although, there's nothing quite like hitting one of those nosey tabloid loudmouths," she said. "You should try it sometime. It's remarkably satisfying. Especially when they get all huffy about it after. You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that."

"I won't lie. It was amusing. Kind of sexy, too. Especially since you did it in a dress," he admitted. "But seriously, Jill, what do you have against the media? They're an annoying but essential part of our political system."

"I've got nothing against the freedom of the press," she protested. "But every once in a while, it sure is nice to exercise my personal freedom to punch a reporter in the face."

After walking another block or two, they finally reached Karma, a vegan restaurant run by Buddhist monks and one of the few places in the Wards that was licensed to serve both humans and turians.

Shepard halted a few steps away from the restaurant's ornate wooden door, her heart hammering in her chest. She wasn't sure why she was so agitated. After all, she'd been looking forward to this visit for a long time. It'd been almost five years since they'd seen each other in the flesh, five years of holo up-links and extranet messages sent from outposts across the galaxy. They'd both been busy, both serving the Alliance, but there wasn't any excuse for a gap of that length. In a job where every mission poses a risk, people had to be good at meaningful goodbyes and at making every opportunity to get together count for something. Shepard had known that from the beginning, but her own demise and the suicide mission had really driven it home.

Garrus leaned back against the stone wall, his keen eyes fixed on her face. He didn't speak, but then, he didn't have to say anything. His presence was enough. He already knew what she was going through.

"I'm going to be glad to see her," Shepard said.

"No doubt. I'm guessing she'll be happy to see you too. Now let's just hope she doesn't want to shot me on sight."

"Actually, she's been surprisingly sane about the whole situation," she replied. "She's going to like you. How could she not? You like big guns and she likes big guns. Just don't say anything bad about the Cowboys and you'll come out alright."

"The Cow..boys? What are those?"

"A team from Dallas. In Texas. They play football."

"Football?"

His mandibles opened, his craggy face taking on a bewildered look, and she worked to stifle a giggle at his confusion. He'd probably had just as much amusement at her expense while they were trucking around on Palaven, although he'd been better at hiding it. "It's a sport. Like clawball. But with, uh, less claws."

"Ohhh. Okay," he said, nodding. "Well, then, the Cowboys are now my favourite football team. And also the only one I've ever heard of."

Shepard laughed, grateful to him for lightening the mood. They'd get through this together, just as they always did. If anything, the discomfort would provide good fodder for the inevitable ribbing that would take place afterward. "Don't worry. I don't think she's going to be giving you a quiz. At least not while I'm in the picture." Sucking in a deep breath that did little to settle her nerves, she grasped the door handle and tugged it open. "I guess now's as good a time as any..."

Upon entering they were approached by a human man with a shaven head, dressed in a simple blue robe. He greeted them with a beatific smile. "Salutations, friends! We are honoured to have you. We've been quite busy here this evening. Do you have a reservation?"

Shepard was about to explain that they were meeting someone here and that the reservation would be under the name 'H. Shepard' when she heard a cry. Someone uttered a loud gasp, choking out a sob that could have expressed either joy or agony, but seemed to convey both the grief of loss and the amazement of an unexpected recovery in a single breath.

"Jill! Honey!"

Shepard saw Hannah Shepard rushing towards her and then two brawny, freckled arms closed around her, rocking her from side to side as if they were being swayed by the sea. She embraced the older woman, inhaling the perfume that she always wore when she was off-duty, a warm, spicy smell that reminded her of her childhood and the various bases they'd called home. Her mom had grower a bit plumper and it suited her, making her appear less raw-boned than the last time she'd seen her. It also made her even nicer to hug. It'd been too damn long since she'd enjoyed one of Hannah Shepard's signature hugs, fiercely tight and comforting. "Mom..."

"Mercy, I know I'm making a scene, but I don't care. You're just going to have to get over it, sweetie, because I plan on sticking to you like molasses."

Shepard laughed, sniffing back her tears. "I missed you, too, Mom."

Hannah eased back, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners as she regarded her daughter's face with evident affection. Shepard grinned, her gaze travelling down to jade floor tiles, the waiters' sandals and the scruffy restaurant carpeting. It was hard not to feel bashful and childish when her mother raised a fuss over her.

"Now don't you look fine!" Hannah declared. "I haven't seen you in a dog's age and you're just the picture of good health. It's hard to believe you came back from the edge of... well, I don't even want to contemplate it." She turned to Garrus, grasping his talon and pumping it up and down in a hearty handshake. "And you must be Garrus. Well, Jill just goes on about you like you're the bee's knees. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

If Garrus was taken aback at her friendly reception and this incursion into his closely-guarded personal space, he hid it well. He stooped forward slightly when he spoke to her, in an effort to efface the drastic difference in height between them. Hannah was not a little wilting flower of a lady and she sauntered around as if she was of Amazonian stature, but in fact, she barely scraped 5'2" on a good day. "Thanks. It's a real honour, Captain Shepard."

"Such manners," Hannah murmured, leading them over to the table. "I hope that politeness has rubbed off on Jill. She's always had such a mouth on her."

Garrus chuckled. "Jill's vocabulary is...impressive. And she isn't afraid to make use of it." He proceeded to pull out Shepard's chair for her and then did the same for Hannah. Shepard settled into the high-backed chair, her lips shaping into a sardonic smile. She leaned her elbows on the table, careless of the fact that she was bunching up the thick white table cloth. Who realized that Garrus could be such a shameless kiss-ass? He was larding on the charm pretty thick. It occurred to her that he might've actually done some research on human etiquette this time around. He must've used an older source, the writings of a European courtier or a finicky old British valet, because he was performing the kinds of social niceties that struck most human men as archaic. Luckily, these tactics were also specially calculated to melt the heart of even the most ice-cold mother-in-law.

Hannah touched her daughter's arm and Shepard was surprised at how aged her mom's hand appeared, the skin slack and crepe-y, mottled with tawny brown spots. It was jarring to realize that her mother would be 67 in three months. The advance of age was mostly disguised by her vivacity and the youthful glint in her eyes, her raucous laughter accompanied by a charming Texas drawl that she'd retained in spite of many years away from Earth. Yet, in spite of this, there was now a slight stoop to her once-perfect military carriage and her teeth look different, more even and pearly – had they been replaced with false ones? Shepard didn't know why these alterations disturbed her so much. She'd been aware of her parents' mortality for a long time, although she'd once tended to mythologize her mother as many children did, taking pride in her rank of captain and the reputation that she'd acquired for loyal service in the Alliance. Maybe it was because the transformation felt so abrupt, the difference of five years passing in whirl of missions, planets and battlefields. Damn, but it'd been a long time.

Garrus managed to adapt well to their typical mother-daughter banter, serving as a voice of reason in the midst of their affectionate squabbling. They were opinionated women, both very much accustomed to setting their own rules, and they took immense pleasure in debate, as if their disputes added spice to the meal. Hannah often pulled out folksy, down-home sayings to charm visitors and Shepard liked to call her out on these affectations, noting that nobody back on Earth talked like that anymore. They also disputed the veracity of certain incidents from Shepard's childhood, which Hannah portrayed as a sunny period of innocence featuring a precocious, spoiled and wilful young girl and her devoted martyr of a mother. Shepard depicted these years in a more satirical vein, as a series of haphazard family relocations across human-occupied space, her mother gleefully hopscotching from one Alliance backwater to another.

Garrus was placed in the unusual position of mediator, trying to keep a straight face as Shepard lambasted her mother for her prim pronunciation of the word "whore" as "hoor" and Hannah scolded her daughter for having given up on her piano lessons. By the second course of the meal, it was clear that Hannah didn't consider Garrus as her daughter's scandalous turian lover so much as she thought of him as the only sentient being who would listen patiently to her vacation stories. Their shared appreciation for heavy weaponry and Mako engineering only reinforced this bond and Hannah was quick in issuing him a standing invitation to board the Orizaba and examine their new cannons. The only false note in an otherwise wonderful evening occurred when Shepard left to use the washrooms. When she returned to the table, Garrus and Hannah immediately clammed up in the midst of what had appeared to be a very animated conversation.

Hannah tapped her daughter on the arm. "Would you get me a rum-and-coke, sugar? You know how I like it."

Garrus then proceeded to give Shepard intricate instructions on how to order a turian drink he called "Last of the Legion", which sounded as if it'd require a chemistry set for the bartender to mix up. This wasn't like him at all - he usually just opted for cheap wine or at most, a plain scotch, when he was in a really decadent mood. If she hadn't realized it before, Shepard was now positive that something was up and she'd been banished from the table until they could finish their discussion. Under other circumstances, she might have suspected that her mother was giving the turian a serious talking-to, but it seemed unlikely now that Hannah had taken such a shine to him. Shepard dutifully walked to the bar and ordered up the drinks, along with a gin and tonic for herself to help ease the pain of exile. When she finally managed to get back to the table, the subject had changed to tales of her youthful indiscretions, a topic that she could readily participate in.

When the evening ended, she reached for the bill and was surprised when both Garrus and Hannah tried to pull it out of her hands.

"I've got it," Garrus said.

"No offense, handsome, but I pay your salary. And I'm bloody cheap," Shepard replied, tugging on the bill. "Let me get this one."

"Drop it," her mother said. "I've got seniority on both of you and it's my treat."

Garrus let go of the bill and Shepard thought he was going to yield, but he promptly stood up and marched over to the bar to pay. She shrugged her shoulders and relinquished the paper to her mother. "I guess he wins. I'd go after him, but he'd probably get me in a headlock or something. I love a good barfight as much as the next girl, but it just isn't the way to cap off a classy night out."

"Quite a charmer, that one," Hannah said. "I'll admit that, at first, I wondered what you were thinking with the turian thing, but now I understand much better. He's very sweet. And such a wonderful sense of humour. Does he treat you right?"

Shepard smiled, clasping her mom's hands across the table. It was great to have such a reasonable parent, especially after witnessing the mistrust and denial that went on in the Vakarian household. She and her mother weren't the perfect picture of familial bliss and in some ways, their relationship could be distinctly dysfunctional, but at the very least, they'd always been able to be honest with each other. That unconditional acceptance of each other's dreams, passions, mistakes and sometimes baffling idiosyncrasies meant a lot, much more than Shepard had ever realized.

"Garrus is the one who's always had my back, Mom. He's my best friend. We take good care of each other."

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear that. I worry about you out there. Especially after that close call you had on the old Normandy."

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm hard to kill. You just focus on keeping yourself out of trouble. I know that's tough for you."

"Dang, what can I say? I'm a mean old bird," Hannah said, chuckling as she flicked a hand through her frazzled honey-blonde hair.

Shepard grinned. She should've known better than to express concern for her mom. The woman was tough as boot leather and one of the best captains the Alliance had to offer. If anyone could survive a Reaper invasion with all her faculties intact, it was Hannah Shepard. "I love you, Mom. I'm glad we could arrange to see each other like this. I'm sorry that we don't get much time to spend together. We'll have to work on fixing that."

"I love you, too, Jilly. And I'm glad that you've found someone real nice for yourself. Doesn't matter to me what planet the man's from so long as you love him and he's good to you. That's what my best girl deserves."

Shepard had never felt so grateful to be her mother's daughter. Hannah had always been her hero for her exploits in the Alliance, but this was an altogether different sort of courage. It couldn't be easy to work with Alliance soldiers, many of them the children and grandchildren of those who'd served in the First Contact Wars, and own up to the fact that her daughter was in love with a turian. Yet her mom did it without a word of complaint, without even raising the issue of prejudice or the damage it might do to both of their careers. Scraping her chair back from the table, Shepard rose from her chair and leaned down to embrace her mom, kissing the soft, withered skin of her cheek. "Thanks, Ma. That means so much to me."

Garrus came back to the table with the triumphant swagger of a turian who'd managed to disobey a direct order and they said their goodbyes to her mother, before it was time to depart for their respective ships. The Orizaba was bound for an assignment in the Attican Traverse, while the Normandy would linger in Citadel space for several more days to file reports with the Alliance and the Council. In this time, Shepard was hoping that she'd be able to convince the Council to conduct another vote on the Reaper Threat, since Velarn and Hierarchy Fleet were now acting in support of the mission. With any luck, the other councillors' comparatively weak opposition to her plan would fold now that a die-hard like Velarn was no longer standing in her way. Having convinced the turians to join her cause, she felt confident that much of the galaxy would fall in step behind them. Of course, the batarians would remain adamantly apart and the krogan and the quarians would take some persuasion, but that was where her friendships with Wrex and Tali would come in handy. As things stood, she felt guardedly optimistic. There was a possibility, not a perfect one or even a very likely one, but a possibility, that she would be able to sit down to dinner with her mom again one day, when all this was over, in a galaxy free from the Reapers.

"I like your mother," Garrus said, as they departed the restaurant. "She's a smart lady and she's got so many amusing sayings. At first, I thought my translator was glitching out."

"Nah, that's just her being funny. Anyway, she definitely took a shine to you too."

Garrus nodded. "Yeah. That was a very nice surprise. Kind of a relief after the reaction we got from my father. I think I might be getting the hang of this socializing with humans thing."

"The whole chivalry angle worked wonders," Shepard admitted. "You had her eating right out of your hand."

He chuckled. Reaching for her, his hand found a comfortable nook at small of her back. "What can I say? Research. Believe it or not, this time I actually did my homework."

Upon their return to their shared room on the Normandy, Shepard plunked down on the leather sofa and removed her shoes, kneading the soles of her feet with her hands. She wasn't used to traipsing around the wards in high heels and she didn't plan on making a habit of it, even if the black stilettos did do a fantasize job of emphasizing the length and musculature of her legs. Still, if being a drop-dead bombshell meant mincing around in torturous shoes, then most days of the week, she was willing to settle for being merely a run-of-the-mill, attractive woman in dirty combat boots.

Garrus wandered over to her desk and came back with a bottle of wine and a couple of goblets that Shepard hadn't remembered stowing in there. He glanced at her to see if she was watching and then executed his favourite party trick: uncorking the bottle with just a talon.

She clapped her hands together. "Bravo, Vakarian. Take a bow."

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated," he said, pouring out two glasses. "Just for that, I'm giving you the smaller glass."

He handed her the goblet and she took a tentative sip. It was a velvety-tasting merlot, the kind of wine that reminded her of tilled earth and fruit ripening in the sun, a world quite different from the pristine expanse of the Citadel. Since she'd started seeing Garrus, Shepard had become something of a wine connoisseur - not because she had a particular affection for the stuff, but because it was one of the few beverages that they could share without having to worry about the nagging question of dextro or levo amino proteins. She'd never tried this particular brand before, but from its shiny gold label and the florid cursive lettering, it looked more expensive than their usual.

Shepard crossed her legs and relaxed back into the sofa cushions, tracing languid circles in the air with her foot as she admired the fresh coat of red polish on her toenails. She really had gone all out to impress tonight. "So, tell me now, what were you and my mom talking about that I wasn't allowed to hear?"

Garrus fumbled with his wine glass, spilling a few red drops on the table. He swiped his hand over the mess, managing to absorb some of the liquid and smear the rest. "Nothing that, uh, you need to worry about."

"That doesn't sound suspicious at all."

He darted a hand into his pocket, as if checking that something was there, and then his mandibles slackened with relief. Raising his goblet, he took a long draught of wine and then wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "Yeah? Is this an interrogation now?"

"If that's what's necessary," she answered. Setting her wine down on the table, she prowled towards him, intent on sussing out what he seemed so eager to conceal.

"C'mon, Jill, give me a break here...I'm nervous enough as it is."

"Nervous? Why? I didn't realize I still made you nervous." She leaned forward, kissing the tender flesh of his throat, her hand snaking into his pocket. Her fingers closed around something cool and metallic and then she slipped away with her prize.

Garrus caught her arm, his wine sloshing around the glass and threatening to spill over the side. "Hey! Don't do that! Crap, you're not supposed to..."

Opening her hand, she saw a silver ring studded with tiny blue stones.

Everything clicked into place, although she couldn't quite believe it. The impulse seemed so traditional coming from him, although there was nothing the least bit conventional about their relationship. Perhaps it was just a present. He probably wasn't aware of the symbolism humans attached to trinkets like these.

He sighed, gulping down the rest of his wine before placing the empty glass on the table. "Well, so much for a surprise. Now you know what I was talking to your mother about. I read that it's human custom to ask the parents for their approval first."

"You mean...?" Shepard had trouble picturing the scene, although she could imagine how much it must've amused her mother to see a deferential and overly-polite turian enacting a human ritual that hadn't been in force for over a century. "What did she say?"

"She said that whatever made you happy would make her happy. I took that to mean she didn't object on principle."

She returned the ring to him, suddenly chastened. "I'm sorry. I should've listened to you. I really thought that you were just kidding around. It never occurred to me that I...might be spoiling a surprise."

"Since you know now, would you mind telling me exactly how this ritual is done? Turians don't do this. I know that I'm supposed to be kneeling down..." Garrus eased down to both knees, the ring clenched in his fist, looking as if he were about to pray. Deciding that this was incorrect, he adjusted his posture so that he kneeled on one leg and the other was bent forward. He took her hand in his, gazing up at her as if to ascertain whether he was doing okay. She smiled at down him with the hope that he'd take this as encouragement. She could feel his fingers quaking and tried to still them with her own firm grip, when it suddenly occurred to her that she was trembling too.

Garrus gave a few low coughs, clearing his throat. This also seemed like a delay tactic as he struggled to cobble together a sentence or two. It was evident that she'd caught him off-guard, his preparations incomplete. "Back on Palaven, I realized that you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, Jill. I love you, we have fun together, and I feel like we make great partners. I mean, we're both soldiers and we've trained ourselves so that we're willing to die for a cause, but you're the cause that I want to live for. When I'm with you, the galaxy just...makes sense." He paused, giving a raspy chuckle as if overwhelmed by the solemnity of his previous statements. "Besides, we're already pretty much attached at the hip as it is and I don't like doing things half-way, so, hey, why don't we just make it official? And you know, if we get hitched, we'll realllly piss off the Terra Firma Party, which is one of your favourite things to do these days... I guess what I'm trying to say is: Commander Jillian Shepard, will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears and she broke into a wide, toothy grin. "Hell yes. How could I not?"

His mandibles twitched and his light eyes gleamed with satisfaction, the thrill of a gamble taken and won, as they often did when he executed a perfect head-shot. "So this is when I put the ring on your finger, right?"

Shepard nodded, sniffling like a total sap as she presented her left ring finger and he gently slipped on the ring. The blue stones glimmered and she wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand. She'd never expected that she'd get engaged or married. With a career like hers, settling down with somebody had never been much of a priority. She would never have predicted that she'd find love at the same time that she struggled to prevent the destruction of the galaxy or that the man of her dreams might be tall, dark and handsome (perhaps unconventionally so, in the rugged, battle-hardened way that krogan females were prone to admire), but not human at all.

Garrus sprang to his feet, enfolding her in his lanky arms. "Thanks for saying 'yes'. I realize my proposal wasn't exactly the most stylish. If you'd like, we can consider this the practice proposal. I bet I manage better the second time around..."

"Are you kidding? No way," she said. "I loved it. There's nothing you can do to top that."

"Really? Not even if I proposed to you atop a pile of dead Reapers and calibrated the Thanix cannon to spell out your name in laser beams?"

She laughed, a ridiculous scene playing itself out in her head. She knew perfectly well that the Thanix cannon couldn't execute those sorts of pyrotechnics, no matter how much calibrating he'd been doing. "Okay, that would be pretty cool. But this is good. No, it's better than good. It's perfect. It's everything I could've asked for."

"So if you'd like, we could just head over to the Presidium tomorrow and get the ceremony done. That's how the Hierarchy tends to do things – no muss, no fuss, just sign the contract and you're mated, no questions asked."

Shepard smirked at this revealing suggestion. Sometimes, Garrus was capable of being so tactful, almost sensitive, and then, other times, he was still a ruthlessly efficient turian, seeing only his objective and the easiest way to reach it. "Oh, yes. How romantic. A shotgun wedding. Every little turian girl's dream come true."

"Hey, it's a pragmatic culture. I take it that human marriage rituals are bit more formal? Tell me what you were thinking of. I'm a proponent of compromise."

"I was thinking that we could delay the ceremony until the mission is over. That way, we'll have some time just to relax and have fun – maybe even take a vacation, you know? And I'd love it if we could have some guests. I just want to really be able to enjoy this, with no interruptions, no worries." She hesitated for a moment before she finished speaking her mind, worried that she might hurt him. "Have...have you checked to see if us getting married even...legal?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I did the research. Some of the legal precedents were pretty insulting...and well, downright weird. Did you know that there are humans out there who've married pillows? And house pets and blow-up dolls and VIs. I thought we were crazy, but as it turns out, our mental health is comparatively sound. Turian-human marriages are pretty rare, but we wouldn't be the first. Two other couples have already gotten hitched in a Confucian ceremony, so, worst-case scenario, I guess we could always pretend to be religious."

"Why did you want to run out and do it so quickly?" she asked. "You're not worried about something, are you?"

He glanced down at her hands, touching the ring on her finger. "I was kind of hoping that we'd get it done now, just in case...something was to happen on the mission. We've already had a couple of close calls."

"Even if we got married tomorrow, it wouldn't mean we were safe, Garrus. There's always going to be a risk. We just have to look after each other," Shepard said. "If anything, it's going to give me some extra motivation to kick the crap out of the Reapers. I'm not going to let those synthetic bastards ruin my wedding day."

"Heh, yeah, I'd never thought of it like that. Harbinger had better watch his ass. I hear angry human brides are not to be messed with."

"Damn straight. Besides, ceremony or not, I'm yours, Vakarian. Nothing is gonna change that."

"Good to know," he said, hiding his anxiety behind a low chuckle. "And hey, with that ring, the next time you punch somebody, it's realllly going to hurt."

"True! Too bad we didn't get engaged a couple hours earlier. I would've liked to leave an impression of this thing in Al-Jilani's face. Where did you get it?"

"Oh, I just picked it up on Palaven while I was out getting the domus board. Kind of a whim, I guess. I hope you like it. I'm not exactly an expert on women's jewellery. I probably should've consulted Tali, but it was sort of a heat-of-the-moment decision."

"I love it. I absolutely do. You have wonderful instincts."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and his hands went to her waist, caressing the flat expanse of her stomach and the curve of her hips. Locked in this hushed embrace, their bodies swayed slightly, as if they were dancing to a song only they could hear, music timed to their heartbeats and the rise and fall of each breath. An outside observer might've assumed they were drunk, but Shepard knew they hadn't consumed nearly enough wine for that. If she was intoxicated, it was just her nearness to him working its magic. Even with the Reapers approaching and constant threats of death and destruction circling around them, they would face the encroaching darkness together, fighting for the survival of the galaxy and for each other, knowing that even if they were defeated, they couldn't be conquered. Despite all the turmoil in their past and the trying times that loomed ahead, they'd lucked into something special and she felt certain that, just this once, everything had gone absolutely, exactly right.

_- fin -_

* * *

_A/N: And that's the end...at least until the wonderful people at Bioware give us some ME3 epic deliciousness, hopefully with Garrus, Tali and all our favourite squaddies returning for some more Reaper-thwarting, Council-mocking fun. This story kind of functioned as my ideal ME3 romance wish-list (Tension with previous LI? Check. Family drama? Check. Political and emotional complications, another chance to deck a reporter and eventual happy ending? Check, check, check!) although, heck, anything that lets me kick Old Machine ass with my favourite snarky sniper turian & co. will be greeted with much fan-girl rejoicing. Thanks for following along with me and I hope that you enjoyed the story. It was lots of fun to write. As always, your comments and reviews are totally loved and appreciated._

_All the best, F.D._


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